


The Space Between Heartbeats

by AliceinHyruleBastion



Category: Persona 5
Genre: (Mona is a spirit guide so guess who still talks), (mostly canonical), Akira has a crush at first sight and Yusuke's incredibly distracted it's wonderful, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Child Abuse, Kimi no Na wa AU, M/M, Magical Realism, all of the Thieves have their own appearance, am I trite? maybe, background ships, but it's slightly canon divergent from the actual movie (it borrows aspects), chapter number most likely to change, do I care? eh, eventual happy ending!!, synesthesia/chromesthesia!Yusuke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2019-10-18 11:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 70,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17579972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceinHyruleBastion/pseuds/AliceinHyruleBastion
Summary: Soulmates, as the story goes-"As Yusuke blinked, he watched as a pair of soft gray eyes blinked back, framed by thick lashes and partially hidden by wild ringlets of dark hair that swept over his forehead. Surprise lit up his face, and he curiously pressed his hands to his cheeks to trace the expression as it lifted through the lines of his cheekbones and curled around his eyes."Trapped in a red string of fate-"A thin yet elegant boy stared back at Akira, pale as ivory; he looked as if he was made of paper- fragile, and as his hands moved up to his face, he gently pressed the pads of his fingers under the dark blue eye that stared back reverently."A Tokyo boy and a boy from the country, suddenly waking up in lives that aren't their own and clumsily tripping into the threads of musubi and falling in love all the same, morning after morning.





	1. Sonder (I)

**Author's Note:**

> I've returned from the dead- finally!! And with a Kimi no Na wa AU at that...  
> So I've seen a lot of those from time to time and I was never fully satisfied, so with a little provocation I ended up over 20K deep in this hell (I missed writing the P5 kids lemme tell you)  
> I preface this with the fact despite me pulling aspects from both the movie and the light novel, it won't follow it exactly as I manipulated some of the aspects of both KNNW as well as P5 to make this huge mishmash of a... thing 
> 
> I broke up the first chapter into two pieces, so this part will be Yusuke's first day as Akira, and part two will be Akira's first day as Yusuke- I'll have some more explanation after the second part, which will be up either today or later this week, but without further ado-  
> Please enjoy, and feel free to ask me any questions!
> 
> (Chapter titles are borrowed from the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows!)

**_Act One: Sonder_ **

_[The realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.]_

 

Soulmates.

 

 _“Bound by the red string of fate, by_ **_musubi_** _, by the gods themselves- no one can tangle or tear their bond, no matter how sharply it may be tugged or how cruel time may be.”_

 

It wasn’t the first time Kurusu Akira had heard the tale and certainly wouldn’t be the last. Call him a romantic, but he _liked_ the story, and couldn't deny that he sometimes entertained the idea of a perfect other half waiting for him somewhere in the world.

 

_Soulmates._

He rolled the word between his teeth as his fingers flit over the thread in front of him, both the conversation of his friends beside him and the song of summer cicadas buzzing in his ears as he twined his silly daydream within the lines of the cord slowly braiding itself into life before him.

 

From the angle they were sitting on the winding stone stairs to the mountain-bound shrine behind them, it looked as if he was winding the sunset itself between his fingers.

 

_It’s just a dream, a passing fancy._

 

_***_

 

 _Yes,_ Kitagawa Yusuke would tell you, _I know of the legend._

 

In his next breath, he would immediately dive into tales of intrigue and heartbreak, musing about if couples such as Pyramus and Thisbe or star-bound Orihime and Hikoboshi truly experienced the love they wholly deserved- _“Are soulmates meant only to be found in the cruelest of circumstances?”_

 

Yusuke was used to being scorned, earning bitter expressions at his reasoning, or a turned-up nose and a scrunched eyebrow as he attempted to explain himself.

He tried not to be bothered by it, even when he found himself alone in a city of constant noise and color.

 

With his back pressed to the wall of his rather empty room, he let his eyes fall shut as lines slowly swirl and drip into his mind: the curve of an eye, a wink, a tear down a face he did not know, the faintest quirk of the lips speaking words he could not catch. It was the quickest blips of a dream he never remembered solidly and yet was haunted by as of late; haunted by a name on his tongue he always forgot like that of smudged charcoal swept away by a careless hand-

Haunted by a person he _knew_ he had never met.

(Yet.)

 

Frustrated, he opened his eyes to scowl down at his lap at the empty sketchbook lying there, blank and laughing. He huffed a short breath of derision when he saw the slant of light from his window painting the pages a sunset-dizzy mosaic of a Tokyo summer.

 

_You cannot dream the face of a person you’ve never met before, can you?_

 

_————_

 

_Summer, two and a half months before comet impact._

 

_Bzz. Bzz. Bz-_

 

“A’ight, Jesus,” a voice muttered, hand coming up to slap at a screaming phone as its alarm rattled through the quiet morning air. Lurching up to a sitting position, Akira groaned as the light hit his eyes, squinting as his mind tried to adjust. _Ugh, no, too early._

 

“If you’re just going to stare at the wall for ten minutes again instead of getting ready then you may as well just go back to sleep,” came a complaint from somewhere to his left. Blearily, he looked over to see a single blue eye scowling at him over tufts of disturbed black fur, surprisingly angry coming from a _cat_ of all things. “Then again, maybe you _should_ just fall back asleep considering how weird you were yesterday.”

 

Akira only faintly processed the cat’s- _Morgana,_ or Mona, from time to time- sarcastic words as he dropped his fingers into his fur with a faint grunt. It wasn’t normal for cats to talk, so he’d been told, but impressionable seven-year-old Akira hasn’t believed a word of what his uncle told him the day he brought home a bedraggled kitten abandoned by the edge of the fox shrine just up the mountain. Akira had heard the sound of someone crying, begging for help, and had found the tiny thing curled into himself and utterly filthy, and something in him refused to leave him alone.

 

 _You found a_ **_bakeneko_ ** _!_ Ann- one of his closest friends- had told him excitedly, clapping her hands as her white-gold curls bounced. _Because you found him by the shrine, he must be_ **_good_ ** _luck, not bad!_

 

With the Takamaki family being the ones keeping the mountain shrine alive and thriving in all of its harmony and magic, he decided to trust her word, even though no one over the age of thirty could apparently hear a cat sass him incessantly from the depths of the bag he normally wore slung over his shoulder.

 

“Oi, you better be up, you coffee gremlin, before I eat all of your breakfast,” a voice chastised from outside his door before it slid open violently to reveal a mishmash of stripes, colors, and a pair of eyes squinting down at him from behind round glasses.

 

“If anyone’s the gremlin here, it’s definitely _you,_ Futaba,” Akira croaked, cracking a faint grin before sneezing.

 

Futaba cocked an eyebrow at him. “Apparently the evil has been exorcised,” she announced delightedly, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame. “Guess you’re feelin’ better?”

 

Akira knit his eyebrows at his cousin before he messily dragged a hand over his face. “What d’you mean?” he slurred, still trying to wake up.

 

She scoffed. “Do _not_ tell me you don’t remember, you weirdo,” she said, shifting off of the door to squat down, peering at him still buried in his futon. “You frickin’ saw me when I came to wake you up and just _screamed,_ asking why a goblin was trying to kidnap you.”

 

_What the fuck._

 

She sighed. “According to your friends, the trend apparently continued, and ya made a bit of an ass of yourself at school. You were a bit off afterward, though, and I was kinda worried.”

 

The only response Akira could conjure was a blurted _“Huh?”_

 

“Oh-so eloquent as usual,” Morgana commented, and Akira poked him in the belly to silence him.

 

“You _forgot to bring Mona,_ you idiot! What was _wrong_ with you?” Futaba added, her words half a squawk and half a demand as she slammed her hands in front of him and leaned into his face, searching.

 

Akira blinked, once, twice. “I- I don’t-“

 

 _“Oi, children-whom-I’m-required-to-feed, said food is gonna get cold and I’m_ **_not_ ** _making any more again!”_ Akira’s uncle bellowed from the kitchen, and he jumped. _“Akira, you’re gonna be late!”_

 

Akira groaned, and Futaba snickered as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I wish you’d go to school so I would have someone to suffer with me,” he complained, and she only laughed louder as she rolled back onto her shins.

 

“Tough luck, bro,” she teased, and he lightly swatted her with a muttered swear. “Alright, now _that’s_ my ‘I can’t do mornings for shit cousin’ I know and annoy!”

 

“I hate you,” he groused, and she cracked a grin before nudging his shin.

 

“Glad you’re feelin’ better now. Come on, then- _let’s go eat!”_ He waved her off as he dragged his hands down his face, hearing her dance out of the room over the creaking floorboards, his door sliding shut.

 

Letting out a breath, be extricated himself from his bed to stand, stretching with a noise that, in any other context, would have been considered inappropriate. He couldn’t be bothered to give a damn as he trudged to his mirror, squinting at his sleep-mussed expression in the glass:

 

Black hair, messy in ringlets that refused to be tamed.

Skin faintly kissed by days spent romping through the summer sun.

Eyes the color of a day just begging for the sunlight to kiss it, stone-gray and searching.

Unbidden, he lifted a hand to his face to trace down his cheek, eyebrows knitting as the odd thought of _yes, this is me,_ solidified in his mind. He paused when he saw a flash of white winding around two of his fingers, and he pulled them away to stare at the bandages around wounds he couldn’t remember receiving.

 

(His memory flit back to the oddest of dreams, so life-like and _burning_ that he felt as if he’d walked in another’s shoes for a few hours, leaving him utterly exhausted the minute his alarm started blaring.)

 

As the feeling of his bracelet sliding down his arm shook him from his reverie, he caught a faint smudge of black smeared on the inside of his forearm, faded from the rub of summer sweat-stained skin on fabric.

 

“What’re you even doin’ over there?” Morgana called, but Akira wasn’t listening as he lifted his arm to his face to scrutinize the stain, eyes widening and heart stopping as he saw what it was:

 

Three characters, perfectly printed despite the smudging in handwriting he didn’t recognize demanding an answer:

**_Who are you?_ **

 

Akira met his own eyes in the mirror with a faintly fleeting thought- _It wasn’t a dream?_

 

————

 

Yusuke _despised_ the sound of an alarm, much preferring that of music or the noise of his guardian as he awoke for the day and clattered through the house in his own subtle way of telling Yusuke it was time to get up, his voice faint and distant shades of blue. _This,_ however was bleeding red and pulsing, painting the inside of his mind in razor-sharp silvers that were enough to set him on edge for the entire day-

 

So why on _earth_ had he decided to set one for this particular morning, screeching by his ear like some feral cat out of a phone that wasn’t set neatly on his desk to charge?

 

Actually, he had less of that perfectly formatted thought and more of a rush of unbridled rage as he smacked at the offending object, barely restraining the urge to _throw it._

 

Sitting up, he pressed his fingers against his face with a deep sigh, shifting them until he could run a hand through his hair and shift it out of his face; he winced when they snagged in unforeseen tangles. _Hm, maybe I need a haircut- I don’t remember it being this troublesome before._

 

He paused when his eyes focused on the room around him, hand freezing in his hair as he tried to see through the blurriness of his sleep-muddled vision. Blinking, he realized that for some reason or another, the room he was in was decidedly not his; no, not this small, slightly-cramped room positively _bursting_ with life and familiarity he did not recognize.

 

He was in someone’s home, one he knew he’d never seen before in his life.

 

_What in the world?_

 

“Yo, are you deaf or somethin’? I’ve been calling for the past five minutes!” a voice called, making Yusuke jump as the door suddenly slid open, and he was met with a blur of orange and _noise_ that his eyes refused to focus on as his ears rattled in unfamiliar and jarring _green._

 

His addled and overly-creative mind blurted out the best answer it could come up with in response. “What do you _want_ with me, goblin?”

 

A snort. “Well, o- _kay,_ I’ll have to admit that that’s a new one,” _she_ \- Yusuke’s mind supplied- said slowly, leaning forward enough that he was able to see her face. He leaned _away_ from her, hands frozen in front of himself as he was unsure of what to do with them-

 

Until he looked down at them, perplexed by the sight of fine-boned fingers he didn’t recognize. Lifting them to his face, he scrutinized them, seeing the smallest scar by the base of his left thumb pale and white over lightly-tanned skin, nails longer than he preferred to keep them but still perfectly manicured.

 

_These are not my hands._

 

“Uh, are you okay?”

 

Yusuke didn’t pay her any attention as a drew his fingers over his palm, curious and awed. “This is certainly a most fascinating dream,” he mumbled to himself, turning his hand over to trace up his wrist.

 

“I’m just gonna…. leave, now,” the mysterious girl muttered, slowly backing out of the room and shutting the door hastily. He paid her no mind as he continued to examine his hands.

 

Humming to himself, he eventually pulled himself to his feet, perplexed by the floor-level futon instead of his regular bed, groaning as his back immediately started to complain. Cautiously, he crept toward the mirror he saw glinting on the other side of the room, tiptoeing around old clothes and discarded shoes. _(Why is everything so blurry? Is it the dust?)_

 

Finally reaching the mirror, he blearily tugged off his shirt with a muted grunt, immediately looking up to gauge the color of the bruises that speckled his chest-

Only to find a completely different image in front of him.  

 

As Yusuke blinked, he watched as a pair of soft gray eyes blinked back, framed by thick lashes and partially hidden by wild ringlets of dark hair that swept over his forehead. Surprise lit up his face, and he curiously pressed his hands to his cheeks to trace the expression as it lifted through the lines of his cheekbones and curled around his eyes. It was unfamiliar watching surprise shape _this_ face, but utterly charming.

 

(Yet there was something familiar about these features, something he remembered in the lines of his fingers and the muscle memory on paper, but he discounted it; he didn’t recognize this face.)

 

A flash of something bright around his left wrist caught his attention then, and looked down to see a braided bracelet glittering at him in shades of deep red shot through with the smallest glimpses of teal as it twined in between. He ran his fingers over it, the movement almost automatic, and he sensed a great deal of love woven into the strands. _It seems this is homemade, or possibly a gift? It’s gorgeous either way._

 

Trailing down from the bracelet to the skin of his inner arm, he looked back up to the mirror to the skin stretched over his chest, shifting over a beating heart and lithe muscles devoid of his cruelly familiar scars. Healthy and full, this body seemed to glow, like quiet sunshine trapped beneath the skin.

 

 _Whoever this is- whoever I am- is rather beautiful,_ he thought to himself, the art-focused part of his mind cataloguing every shape and line of his face while another, quieter part of himself was breathless, heart intrigued and curious.

 

“The hell are you even doing? Do you just plan on ogling yourself for the next fifteen minutes and end up late?” Yusuke whipped around with a half-muted shriek to find the source of the piano-striped voice, landing on a shadow of a cat stretching lazily in the sunlight before fixing him with a look. “What’s with _that_ look?” More black-on-white syllables berated him, baffling and new, but undeniable in its source.

 

Yusuke’s eyes were wide, frozen in shock. “The cat is speaking to me,” he whispered, taken aback when said cat gave him a bitter look. Suddenly, he let out a breath and laughed, running a hand through his hair again in a last-ditch effort to get it out of his eyes. “Well, this must _certainly_ be a dream, and a rather peculiar one at that.”

 

“Akira?”

 

Yusuke knit his eyebrows as the cat spoke once again. _Akira?_

 

He started to reply with _that’s not even close to my name_ when a quiet, sudden realization hit him, and the faintest flush of warmth crept up the back of his neck.

_Oh no, I need to use the bathroom._

 

***

 

While most things didn’t fluster Yusuke, _that_ endeavor had reached some unfortunate level of mortification for both himself as well as whomever he was presently masquerading as. He shook his head and scrubbed a hand down his face, catching the sight of a school uniform out of the corner of his eye hanging inelegantly on the back of bathroom door.

 

Blowing the hair out of his eyes- _really, why does it utterly refuse to stay back?-_ Yusuke reached out to thumb over the plaid pants, humming to himself curiously. “I must say, this is certainly a unique pattern for a uniform,” he muttered, eyes skipping to the white shirt and the small black double chevron at the breast. Tucking it over his arm, he reached for the pants and tapped at a small pin on attached at the right pocket, boasting a small white three. “A third year, then? Hm, what are the odds we’d both be the same year?”

 

 _“Akira, hurry up! Sojiro’s calling for you!”_ the girl with the green voice yelled again, muffled through two layers of doors.

 

“Give me a minute!” Yusuke called, hand pausing at his throat as the unfamiliar voice replied, exacerbated by his volume. _My words, not my voice. Interesting._

 

He heard a faint huff and the sounds of a body shuffling away, the floorboards creaking under her weight letting him know she’d departed. He shrugged, and turned back to the uniform. “Well, if I’m to live out someone’s life, I should try, at least,” he mused, speaking just to hear his voice curl in his ears again and soak it in. Having grown used to the color of his _own_ voice, he typically blocked it out, but now he hyper-focused on the smoke-gray words twisting around him, quiet and shifting and seconds away from bursting into a technicolor wonder. “What a funny dream…”

 

“Oi, idiot-savant, did you die in there?” came the cat’s demand again, and Yusuke felt a simultaneous twist of annoyance and bewilderment tug at his stomach as he hastily tugged on the uniform.

 

Hair a mess, clothes pulled on haphazardly, vision just the faintest bit blurry and a lingering sense of dread mingled with _excitement_ burning through him, and Yusuke tumbled out of the bathroom back into that strangely lived-in room. A red chime from the phone made him turn, scooping it up with a faint sense of disdain that wasn’t its fault, innocuous with its white back and numerous dings. (His sensei hadn’t taken it well when a much younger Yusuke insisted on a very specific phone because he hated the sound of reds and error-screen blues, confused when he was scorned instead of understood.)

 

Clicking it on, he was met with the image of four people underneath what looked to be a fox shrine, the sun bright on their faces turning their laughter to liquid gold: two boys and two girls, all pressed together in one massive hug and grinning for the camera. Yusuke recognized the boy in the center as the face he’d seen in the mirror, cheek-to-cheek with a blonde girl who radiated brightness and natural beauty. To the girl’s right was another girl with long, dark hair caught in a giggle, bliss making her cheeks red, and on the far left was a bleach-blond boy who had _raucous_ spelled out in the lines of his body and mile-wide smile, an arm slung over the other boy’s shoulders.

 

The picture spoke of innocent joy and inclusion, and Yusuke’s chest ached with a spark of loneliness.

 

The phone chimed again to remind him of the message waiting. He squinted at the mess of a reply by someone named _Ryuuji,_ asking him about something cut off by the lock screen limit. “Who on earth is Ryuuji?” Yusuke muttered to himself, fiddling with the phone in attempt to open it- he didn’t know the PIN- but pressed his thumb to the divot at the base of the screen and was rewarded with a shifting photo to reveal an image of a black cat curled in someone’s lap, fast asleep and content. _So, he’s a sentimental one,_ Yusuke reasoned, unable to resist a faint smile at the sight of the (admittedly) sweet cat.

 

“For _fuck’s sake,_ hurry up!”

 

Yusuke winced when neon-green shrieked into yellow-orange, washed out by a new voice that he could only catch the faintest glimpse of _coffee dark._ _“Futaba,_ language!” He heard a faint mumble that he assumed was an apology, and then nothing more.

 

Mumbling to himself in uncertainty, he searched for a book bag of any sort and found one tucked next to the desk, tugging it off the floor to examine another- though considerably older- braided cord wrapped around one of the handles, a small gold star charm winking in the dusty light. A spark of second-hand affection washed through him as he saw cherry red and bright pink chasing each other through the braid, not as neat as the one around his wrist.

 

He wasn’t sure if it was the sight of the cord itself or the bag dangling heavily from his fingers, but a sudden realization hit him sharply enough that he felt idiotic as the question left his mouth:

 

“Where do I even go to _school?”_

 

(He jumped when an exhausted _Are you KIDDING me?_ came from the cat, catching what looked like a dirty look from it before he sucked in a breath, slipped the bag over his shoulder and pocketed the phone before leaving the room.)

 

***

 

The house itself was sprawling and _very_ Japanese, in the traditional sense that it was many rooms and open hallways leading Yusuke to be more lost than he anticipated as he slipped through the hallways. It was far from _empty,_ however, with every inch covered in life and home and time of a past he didn’t know: photos and art and of knickknacks here and there _(Is that a… frog? What an odd statue)_ as well as nicks and scrapes in old paint and rice-walls with patches over top and re-glued glass wind chimes swaying gleefully in the summer wind. He wanted to dawdle in this home and its vivacity, its history, wanted to loiter in this dream and never return to that cold condo he knew far too well.

 

Upon _finally_ reaching the kitchen (which he nearly walked past) he was met with the blur of the girl from earlier, _Futaba_ he figured, from what the scolding voice had called her earlier. Catching sight of him, she waved frantically at him, mouth full of rice and perched at what looked like a Western-style counter. She pointed at the countertop beside the sink and blurted a _“Food!”_ Yusuke got the hint and followed her finger to a neatly made lunch box beside a smaller container of fresh rice on top of it. “You’re runnin’ late so I packed your breakfast,” Futaba said, swallowing her bite. “Missed Sojiro though; he’s already at Leblanc.”

 

Yusuke blinked. “Oh,” he replied, trying to keep a neutral face. _Sojiro?_

 

“The others have been heckling me to get you out, so go go _go_ before I punt you out!” she continued, slipping off of her stool to wheel around the counter, forcing the container into his arms. _She only barely comes up to my shoulder-?_ The thought barely processed before small hands were digging into the small of his back, shoving him toward the door until he tripped on the stair. “Don’t keep them waiting!”

 

Yusuke didn’t respond before dutifully slipping on what seemed to be the only shoes that would fit him and creeping out the door, frozen the second he stumbled out into the morning light. He gawked at the overwhelming expanse of _green_ and the taste of utter earth that ran over his tongue, pure and refreshing. Jade-gold cicada song chirped in his ears overtop the whistling of the thin blue wind, and he was so enamoured by the sight that he barely felt the heat of the food against his fingers becoming uncomfortable.

 

Snapping out of his reverie, he shucked his bag from his shoulder and deposited the food carefully inside, carefully extricating a notebook once it caught his eyes and examining the name written on the cover as he carefully made his way down the sloping walkway.

 

Sharp but small, each stroke of the characters was perfectly placed but slanted, neat in a messy way that seemed artfully perfected but at the same time unintentional: _Kurusu Akira._

 

Yusuke tested the syllables on his tongue, hearing them settle in his ears with the faintest hint of cherry in smoke gray that settled into the nooks and edges of the name. _I wonder what kind of person you are, Kurusu-san._ He smiled then, satisfied on some curious level of his, before tucking the book away and looking up to watch as he wound himself down the mountainside path. _If I were one for capturing the wonder of landscapes, this would certainly be a perfect place to begin._

 

The wandering path trapped Yusuke in his own head as he counted the shades of green he saw perfectly mingled with the silver-blue of the morning sky, unbothered even when he nearly tripped down the old stone stairs passing through a weathered but well-loved _Tengu_ gate. He didn’t bother to rush, simply enjoying the simplicity in the clever silence of nothing but nature around him instead of the artificial sounds of Tokyo life greeting him in burnt-yellow and stale train announcements and the potent pollution of commuters and their black-gray hubbub even music couldn’t erase.

 

_Why rush when this is just a dream? I’ll just wake up and this will be gone, so why hurry it?_

 

Apparently the dream seemed to disagree, as he was assaulted by the sound of someone calling his (or _Akira’s,_ rather) name and making him pause just before the path sloped out from trees into a mountain-side road. “Well, holy _shit,_ he’s alive!” a voice yelled, lion-gold with sparks of blue and copper rich in his syllables. Yusuke caught the sight of three figures waiting by the gap in the trees, a bicycle nearby propped lovingly up. “I thought Futaba finally ate you or something,” the voice said, and Yusuke traced it to the boy he recognized from Akira’s phone with the reckless grin and white-gold hair.

 

“What the hell, Ryuuji?” one of the girls hissed in thick magenta, the lift in her question bright peach and warm. _Ah, the tall girl with the lovely hair._

 

Ryuuji- _the one who messaged me this morning?-_ scowled, crossing his arms. Yusuke was intrigued by the way his weight shifted, following a crooked curve of his back and the slump of his shoulders as it leaned away from one leg. _An injury, perhaps?_ “What? It was a valid question,” he sniped, and the girl huffed.

 

“Ann, you should know better than trying with him this early in the morning,” the other girl chided, chrome and elegant ink-black curling in her syllables, though the faintest touches of gentle sky blue belied a softer adoration. _(‘Ann’? An odd name, but charming nonetheless. I suppose a foreign background would be the cause behind her entrancing looks.)_ “In all seriousness, though, are you alright? You’re normally not one for being late.” Yusuke blinked when he realized she’d turned back to him, soft brown eyes betraying a much keener eye than her gentle appearance suggested.

 

“Yeah, man, and you forgot your glasses,” Ryuuji chimed in with a huff. “I can’t remember the last time you actually _did_ that.”

 

_Oh. I suppose that’s why everything’s blurry._

 

“You just now noticed?” Ann asked, peering at Yusuke.

 

“Hm?” A bubble-pop of smoke gray, dissipating into the lightest dip of intoned red. _Interesting._

 

Ann shook her head. “Never mind.”

 

“I’ve just had a bit of an odd morning,” Yusuke answered sincerely, knowing better than try telling the truth, shifting his weight as his knee complained from standing on the hill.

 

“I’ll say,” Ryuuji said, leaning around him to glance at his shoulder. Yusuke knit his eyebrows. “Did you forget _Mona?”_

 

“‘Mona’?” Yusuke parroted, nerves buzzing uncomfortably as Ryuuji leaned further into his space, thumbs hooked into the loops of his pants.

 

Abruptly, Ryuuji stepped back, giving him a blank expression. “Dude.”

 

“You forgot Mona-chan?” the other girl asked incredulously, blinking up at him. “Were you _that_ distracted this morning?”

 

Yusuke didn’t know how to reply before Ryuuji burst out laughing, leaning onto Ann’s shoulder. “Kurusu Akira without his cat; I thought the day would never come!” Ann snorted before shoving Ryuuji bodily off of her shoulder enough that he stumbled and nearly fell over.

 

“Ann,” the other girl warned, and Ann grinned sheepishly, embarrassed at being scolded but not for her actions.

 

“Sorry,” she said, but the smile on her face made Yusuke doubt her sincerity.

 

“Why couldn’t  you have yelled at her _before_ she pushed me, Shiho?” Ryuuji complained, and Shiho bit back the tiniest grin.

 

“Well, it wasn’t for lack of trying,” she replied, and Ryuuji rolled his eyes.

 

“Yeah, yeah, pick on the cripple, got it,” he muttered, but the warm gold of his words told Yusuke there wasn’t true anger behind them. Steadying himself, Ryuuji tugged out his phone to glance at the time, swearing colorfully when the screen lit up. “Cat or no, we gotta leave!”

 

“Crap, it’s that late already?” Ann asked, catching the time from where she peered over his shoulder.

 

“Ah shit, I’m so dead if I turn up late again- let’s hustle!” Ryuuji announced dramatically as he hauled himself onto his bike, swinging his bag onto his shoulder. _(Does he not have an injury of some sort? How would biking not exacerbate it?)_

 

“Lemme on too!” Ann was saying, already swinging her legs over the rack and fisting a hang in the back of his shirt as she leaned over to adjust one of her socks.

 

_This is like a scene out of a manga- people really do this?_

 

“Be careful, you two,” Shiho called, the expression on her face telling Yusuke that this wasn’t the first time they’d done this. Ryuuji shot them a wild grin and a mock salute before pushing off, letting Ann blow a kiss toward Shiho before they were swept down the hill of the winding road. Yusuke was intrigued when Shiho’s face turned bright pink.

 

“Is everything alright?” he asked, making her jump, before shaking her head. Yusuke watched as the wind carried the dark strands of her hair and splayed them over the bright green of the foliage behind them.

 

“If anything, I should be asking _you_ that question,” she deflected, though he saw her fingers flutter over each other. “You’ve been bringing Morgana with you _everywhere_ ever since I met you.”

 

Yusuke squinted at her. “The cat?” _The one who spoke this morning?_

 

Shiho tilted her head, concerned. “Who else would I mean? Though, I suppose he wouldn’t be too happy to hear you call him as such; you know how he gets.”

 

_No, actually, I’m afraid I don’t._

 

He jumped when he felt teasing fingers poking at his cheeks, before a thumb pressed in between his eyebrows. “Your face is going to get stuck like that if you keep frowning,” she said, sky blue between her teeth and dark gray in her concern. “I won’t bother you anymore about what’s upsetting you, but we better get to class before Kawakami-sensei scolds us again.”

 

Yusuke chuckled lightly. “I have a feeling that we’re going to arrive before those two do.”

 

She smiled, gentle and opalescent as mother-of-pearl, and Yusuke was captivated by how easy it came to her face. “Let’s see if you’re right about that.”

 

***

 

Somehow, in a way that utterly baffled Yusuke despite having grown up in the heart of Tokyo and experiencing the odd on a daily basis, not only did he and Shiho make it to school- _Shujin Academy,_ the front sign read- on time, they also managed to beat the bicycle-bound Ryuuji and Ann with five minutes to spare.

 

_I suppose this place isn’t also short on the odd._

 

Yusuke was thankfully spared from the awkwardness of trying to locate his seat when Shiho decided to walk ahead of him toward it, pleasantly surprised that Akira had chosen the space where he himself had been drawn by the light of the window. He found it odd that this dream was realistic enough that he could smell the summer heat seeping through the old windows and the chalk dust from the front board, but he paid it no mind. He listened to the multi-colored hubbub of his classmates, focusing on the sound of Shiho humming lightly to herself as she scrolled through her phone, perched in the chair of the seat in front of him.

 

Curious, he decided to pull out a few of Akira’s notebooks, choosing on the one labeled _Literature_ and carefully placing the others inside the worn desk and flipping through it delicately. More of the neatly-lazy characters greeted him in sheafs of surprisingly detailed notes, complete with side-comments and the occasional doodle. They weren’t bad despite being jammed into the corner of margins, and one set of doodles buried in a lecture about Western Literature of a thief-like character brandishing a knife and a spiralling set of wings that seemed to be done for a way to pass the time as it curled its way off the page made Yusuke laugh quietly.  As opposed to himself, Akira seemed not to have an issue with _kanji,_ and Yusuke scoffed at his own memory of blatantly forgetting simple words and scrawling lines of notes that confused even himself in the end, yet he was met with a perfect written recollection of information that would make any teacher proud.

 

It was then that Yusuke blinked, the tiniest realization making an _ah_ shape on his lips. _Kurusu-san doesn’t like to speak much, does he? Or maybe it takes him a bit until he’s comfortable with them?_

 

He wasn’t given a chance to reflect much on his newfound discovery as the sight of a young woman who looked as if Atlas himself sat on her shoulders made her way into the room, dropping a set of papers onto the front desk and regarding the class. Yusuke waited to see if she would call for their attention, but she looked down at her watch and sighed before busying herself with the papers she’d brought. His spine relaxed as he was able to turn back to the notebook in front of him, simply revelling in the personality that seeped out of the pages.

 

A few minutes later, a loud commotion made Yusuke look up and toward the door, where it slid open violently to rattle in its frame as Ann rushed in, shouting something over her shoulder just as the bell rang. The teacher raised an eyebrow at her as she sheepishly made her way in the room. Sighing, the teacher then made her way to the door to stick her head out, and Yusuke heard a bright yellow _“Sakamoto-kun, you’re late again!”_ reverberate down the hall.

 

 _“Am not!”_ came a familiar flush of childish gold, and Yusuke bit back a smile as Ann rolled her eyes violently at the interaction.

 

“The _bell_ begs to differ,” she called back to him before shutting the door, turning to look over at Ann. “Takamaki, you were also cutting it rather close too.”

 

Ann shrugged. “I can just run a bit faster.” There was nothing malicious in the warm pinks of her reply, bubbles of champagne floating through the room, but it was blunt enough to make Yusuke choke out of shock. She turned to give him a grin before gently herding Shiho from her seat to the empty desk to Yusuke’s right. Shiho caught his eye knowingly, giving him the tiniest grin as he swallowed back a smile.

 

_I haven’t the faintest clue who these people are, yet somehow… I feel at ease with them._

His smile dropped.

_This is just a dream- don’t get too attached._

 

“Alright, enough of that; let’s start homeroom,” the teacher called, met with a multitude of tired _good morning’s_ and _yes, Kawakami-sensei’s_ in miserable shades of flat, buzzing grays. Yusuke hesitantly followed suit, but his mind drifted to the face he saw that morning in the mirror and the hands that fiddled with his papers in front of him, wondering how they would look sketched across pages upon pages, wondering how they would look when the correct soul was in its place: _How does he hold himself? Does he fidget, have good posture? How does mirth look over his face- anger? Joy? Tears? What does his voice sound like from his own lips?_

 

(A few minutes later, and Yusuke found that he’d unintentionally scrawled his questions at the bottom of his page next to a lone pair of eyes, smeared in graphite from his flighty fingers. He felt both a pull of shame yet also intrigue deep in his chest, the latter keeping him erasing it all.)

 

_Don’t fall in love with the image of a phantom- no matter how realistic it may seem, this is just a dream, no matter how much you wish it not to be so._

 

***

 

Classes passed uneventfully, and Yusuke achieved what seemed to be Akira’s natural sense of a low-profile; unassuming, harmless. He didn’t mind it, already accustomed to how his own personality warded his classmates off, and instead settled into an unfamiliar location with teachers and lectures he didn’t know. While much more relaxed in comparison to his own school, Yusuke was still impressed by the wide berth of information these teachers went over. Thus far, Yusuke hadn’t quite understood any of the content thrown his way, and instead decided to follow the notes Akira had taken for each of the classes instead, making a game out of commenting on what Akira had written or on the doodles that appeared sporadically throughout the notebooks.

 

His fingers itched for a medium other than a pencil and his bones ached from being stationary for so long, antsy and almost irritable in the way he knew he got during long nights of frustration when the answers to his questions and struggles lay just beyond castle walls blocked by the beast standing guard outside Yusuke’s bedroom. It was the frustration he knew when he thought of his mother, of his career, of when his mind had become so dull that the colors he heard were nothing more than black on white, and he frowned, the lines sharp enough to pierce flesh. _Why am I so upset in this dream?_

 

“Well, since you seem to be having a grand old time in your head back there, why don’t you stand and answer the next question for me, Kurusu-kun?” The voice that interrupted his reverie was sharp and unyielding, not exactly colored but _shaded,_ shaded like shadows and just as permeating. Yusuke looked up and blinked, not entirely processing it until a foot kicked him in the shin. Yusuke glared at Ann, only catching the back of her head as she leaned innocently into the palm of her hand.

 

Yusuke bit back a sigh and pushed out of his seat to face the teacher, an older man with a level expression on his face, waiting. Yusuke met his eye, wondering how often Akira might’ve faced this same situation. _(Is he any good at public speaking, or does he freeze? How does his voice change, if it changes at all? Does his color change too-?)_

 

“Kurusu-kun? Your answer?” the teacher asked, and Yusuke blinked.

 

“Hm? Oh, I’m sorry; could you repeat the question?” he requested, ignoring the barely restrained slips of laughter speckling the air around them; they didn’t bother him. After all, he was used to far worse. (His fingers were propped on his hip, tapping out some phantom rhythm as an old warning kept him from swaying on his feet.)

 

“What is the only _Kabuki_ performance today that features the assassin Ishikawa Goemon?” the teacher asked, professional but most likely expecting ignorance, calling on Yusuke simply to scold him for being distracted from the lesson.

 

 _“Kinmon Gosan no Kiri,”_ Yusuke answered immediately, paying no mind to the surprised murmurs of his classmates. “He was portrayed as a thief, however, not an assassin,” he added, knitting his eyebrows.

 

“I didn’t know you had an interest in _Kabuki,”_ the teacher replied, shocked, before composing himself. “Even so, the story of Ishikawa Goemon was to highlight the dangers of subverting an authoritarian government; it’s a moralistic story, as he was punished for his attempted murder of Toyotomi Hideyoshi.”

 

Yusuke shifted, moving his arms to cross over his chest, hands cupping at his elbows. “Disregarding the fact that history has smeared his story in a multitude of ways depending on how the story teller needed to use it, you asked me about _Kabuki;_ in that setting, he serves as more of a Robin Hood character, fighting back against a despot to sate his need for revenge to aid his own people, and is therefore meant to enliven the audience, not to be demonized by them.” Yusuke watched as the teacher opened his mouth, closed it, and stared blankly at him, unable to come up with a reply. Yusuke cocked his head. “Did I say something wrong?”

 

“You- well, I think you’ve given me more than enough of an answer,” the teacher eventually replied, waving at him, “you can sit down now, Kurusu-kun.”

 

Yusuke complied, albeit a bit perplexed, but nonetheless unperturbed. He felt no pride in his reply, knowing his sensei would have wanted to go further into detail of _Kabuki,_ but he was satisfied even so. He felt a nudge at his shin and looked up to see Ann staring back at him, eyes wide. He frowned. “What?”

 

She just shook her head, turning back to her seat. Yusuke shrugged. _I just answered truthfully._

 

The rest of the day passed inanely, lost to him in words he didn’t bother to categorize in their proper colors and doodles of black on white, counting minutes in heartbeats and the strokes of pencil on paper.

 

***

 

“He _what?”_

 

Yusuke flinched, resisting the childish urge to slap his hands over his ears as Ryuuji’s words rattled around him, only exacerbated by the expression of shock on his face; both were maddeningly bright, sharp syllables lined in gold that nearly outshined the sound of the cicadas around them.

 

“It was certainly entertaining,” Shiho added, aiming a small smile toward Yusuke. Yusuke sighed, leaning back in the seat perched beneath the shade of a large tree just outside the small courtyard of the school.

 

“Why _do_ ya know such a weird assortment of shit, huh?” Ryuuji pressed, dropping his chin into his hands as he balanced his elbows on his knees, the creaking of the chair he was rocking in grating against Yusuke’s ears.

 

“And what was with the whole conceited city boy schtick anyway?” Ann added from where she was lying over the picnic table bench, head in Shiho’s lap as she looked backward toward Yusuke, dropping her phone on her stomach. The clash of magenta against the white of her uniform shirt drew his eye for a moment, until he registered her words and bristled.

 

 _“‘Conceited’?_ How rude,” he argued, chewing on the inside of his cheek stubbornly.

 

Ann snorted. “There you go with that accent again,” she teased, and Ryuuji snickered. “You can drop it now, though; it’s just us.”

 

_Accent? I have no idea what gave them that impression; if anything, they’re the ones with a vastly different accent than I._

 

“That aside, the look on Inui-sensei’s face was just _gold!_ He had _no_ idea what to do!” Ann continued, unaware of his internal plight, eyes bright and delighted with laughter barely held between her teeth, peach-stained from her poor efforts to restrain it.

 

Ryuuji heaved a dramatic sigh, groaning as he brought his chair back down to four legs. “Damn, I wish I could’ve seen it- I would’ve given _anything!”_

 

“Then maybe you should try not _sucking_ at your tests then, for once, and maybe we’ll be in the same class,” Ann chastised, fixing him with chameleon-colored eyes Yusuke couldn’t decide were green or blue, one fair eyebrow arched high over her face.

 

He winced. “Low blow, Takamaki,” he grumbled, and Shiho giggled.

 

“Like you have any room to talk, Ann,” she reminded, and Ann sat up abruptly to stare at Shiho, faux-insult on her face. Shiho cut off whatever refutation was about to come out of Ann’s mouth with a quick “and don’t remind me that you’re good at English when you score so poorly on any other subject,” words level but teasing, face breaking into a grin when Ann’s face went red and she puffed out her cheeks petulantly. Ryuuji burst out laughing, adding a different depth of color to the scene in front of Yusuke.

 

Second-hand nostalgia brushed against his ribs, soft and fluttering, and he couldn’t help the small smile that slid gently onto his face. While souls not entwined with his own, he felt oddly honored that he was given time with them, basking in the borrowed warmth even though his waking mind reminded him that he was an imposter in someone else’s skin.

The smile on his face twisted just slightly, turned bittersweet.

 

“Hey, dude.” The toe of a sneaker dug lightly into the side of Yusuke’s thigh. “You’ve been all weird and quiet today; you good?”

 

Yusuke looked up, blinking when he was met with with soft brown eyes turned copper by the slant of sunlight through the trees, full of earnest worry that nearly threw him off. _(So transparent, this one.)_

 

“He’s normally a quiet one, though,” Ann rebuked, nose back in her phone as she answered without looking. Shiho said nothing, looking down at her fingers where she was winding tiny braids in the explosion of hair spread over her lap.

 

Ryuuji hummed disapprovingly, leaning forward with his elbows perched on his thighs, index finger and thumb stroking at his chin curiously. The gesture struck Yusuke with a sudden jolt of unwanted familiarity, and his nose wrinkled ever so slightly. “I dunno, man, but you’ve been _weirder_ today- hey, what’s _that_ face for?” Ryuuji demanded, insult a flash of jade under his tone and reflected in how his eyebrows knit.

 

Yusuke let out a breath, waving him off. “It’s nothing, I assure you,” he said, hand dropping to fiddle with the wood of the chair leg, scraping at the splintering wood just around one of the screws. Over and over again he signed his name, unconsciously scraping out the characters.

 

_(“Stop fidgeting, Yusuke; it’s unbecoming, and frankly? Irritating. Get ahold of yourself, boy.”)_

 

His fingers kept moving. Ryuuji was unconvinced.

 

“You’ve been spacey all day, and while I know that’s a Sakura family trait, it’s like... “ Ryuuji groaned, scrubbing at the back of his head. (Yusuke tracked the glint of the silver ring around his index finger, watched how the joint of his knuckle bent just above the band before disappearing into his hair.) “I dunno, you kinda seem like a different person today, I guess.”

 

Yusuke’s heart stopped, fingers unintentionally clenching sharply around the wood.

 

Ann snorted. “What is this, one of those weird mangas you like to read?” she chastised, and Ryuuji scowled at her. “God forbid you say _aliens_ next and summon Sakura Futaba herself.”

 

 _“Hey!”_ Ryuuji whined, and Ann snickered, pausing to look up at Shiho, who’d gently tugged one of the new braids in her hair in admonishment.

 

Yusuke didn’t pay them any mind as his vision when blurry _(Well, blurrier, I suppose)_ and monochrome, a feeling of _something isn’t right_ settling heavily in his mind. _This isn’t real, right? It’s just something my mind concocted out of exhaustion to entertain itself in the nighttime hours._

 

Words fell into his mind then, an eerie trivia fact an acquaintance of his had told him once while on the subject of dreams, still caught in the perfect recollection of his ever-telling rust-colored words:

 

_“Kitagawa-kun, did you know that you can’t dream up a brand-new face? Apparently, it’s completely impossible, even for an artistically-apt mind like yourself. Though, I suppose you could dream a person you don’t remember meeting, but then again… Ah, never mind, I’m rambling; I’ve never been one for remembering my dreams as it is.”_

 

Yusuke knew for a fact that he had never met these people even once in his life, and certainly hadn’t ever seen nor _heard_ of whatever tiny town they were currently residing in, yet it was undeniable that he was _here,_ with _these_ people and _this_ body, and a faint instinct was tugging at the back of his mind and telling him to focus.

“-kira?”

 

_Could this be real?_

 

“Aaaaakira?”

 

_No, of course not._

 

_“AKIRA!”_

 

Yusuke jerked out of his head with a wince as sharp magenta curled in his ears, temples throbbing in time to point of pain in his fingers. His eyes frantically latched onto Ann before skidding around to see all three of them staring at him. “What?” he asked, a little breathless, a little shaky, an undercurrent of red lining his voice.

 

“Your fingers are bleeding,” Shiho said pointedly, gesturing to the hand that had been picking at the chair. Numbly, he retracted his hand to stare at it, catching red on white. Sure enough, a slice cut over his index and middle finger, presumably from where he’d caught it on the nail, and all he could focus on was the pulse of blood beneath his skin and the realization that it _hurt_ distracting him.

 

“If you stick that in your mouth, I’m terminating our friendship,” Ann said blithely, but her words sounded like she was underwater; warped, unnatural, tinny. Yusuke kept staring at his fingers, ignoring Ryuuji’s mumble of _“Spacey, what did I tell you?”_ and gently pressing against the wound. He was rewarded with a slight spike of pain- Minor, nothing worse than what he’s had before, but undeniably _real._

 

“I think I might be ill,” Yusuke suddenly mumbled, and was utterly shocked at the look of genuine concern on each of their faces.

 

“So it _wasn’t_ just me, then,” Ryuuji muttered, pushing himself out of his seat and tugging Yusuke up. “Come on, let’s get you home, then.” Yusuke wasn’t able to respond as his mind started whirling, the hand that had wound around his back and ruffling the hair at the back of his head comfortingly catching him off guard. _Such kindness, and not hidden behind anything else- Kurusu-san must be rather lucky to have found people like these,_ Yusuke thought with a pang of envy as Shiho knelt for his bag and Ann rummaged around in her own, quietly scolding Yusuke as she searched for something. Eventually, she tugged out something small and white, shoving it toward him; a set of bandages. He nodded blearily and took them from her, pulling the paper apart and diligently wrapping them around the wounds, numb and disconnected.  

 

***

 

Having dropped him off to Futaba with a crooked and rushed rendition of his current status, Yusuke was now left to his own devices in that unfamiliar kitchen with Futaba running her mouth a mile a minute in lime-green chatter. Yusuke himself was standing helplessly in the middle of the room, stomach twisting, while Futaba busied herself with something by the sink, talking all the while. “I _knew_ something was wrong with you this morning, but I just let you go even though you were all over the place and _here you are,_ sick or _something!_ Akira, you don’t even _get_ sick!” she insisted, and Yusuke flinched, the wrong name settling over him like a slap. “You’re damn lucky it’s nearly the weekend!”

 

Yusuke blinked, smelling coffee and seeing green and hands tugging at the skin of his hands, nervous and disjointed. “I’m not- I don’t think I’m _sick,_ but-”

 

 _“No buts!”_ Futaba countered, whipping around with a blur of red hair and scowl, pointing at him with a cup of something in her hand. _“You_ are going to go upstairs and drink your coffee before I call someone to come exorcise you, okay?”

 

Yusuke stared blankly at her, head swimming. She frowned.

 

“Akira?”

 

“That’s not-” Yusuke sighed deeply, scrubbing a hand over his face and revelling in the feeling of his fingers stinging, grounding him.

 

Futaba set down the cup and weaved her way around the counter, propping her hands on her hips and staring up at him. “Not what? You’re not acting like yourself today, Akira, and it’s scarin’ me a bit.”

 

“I’m not _Akira,”_ Yusuke bit out, quiet and jigsawed, frustration making his head pound in confusion.

 

_I don’t know where I am, I don’t know who these people are, I don’t know if this is real-_

_What’s happening?_

_Am I dreaming?_

_Am I alive?_

_What’s going on-?_

 

“Hey, _woah,_ slow down, bro! What’s wrong with you?” Futaba cut in, hands clapping to Yusuke’s cheeks and making him jump. “What _happened?”_

 

“I don’t _know,”_ Yusuke replied, and he realized he was _scared-_

 

He was scared because it all felt so real, but more than anything?

He was scared because he _didn’t want it to end._

 

“Let’s just get you to bed,” Futaba suggested quietly, nudging him toward the door. “I think you need to sleep _whatever_ this is off.”

 

“Maybe,” Yusuke agreed weakly, and Futaba snorted.

 

“Come on, then, let’s go,” she directed, her gentle nudge now a full shove as she guided him out of the room. He stumbled, surprised, but she paid it no mind as she directed him through the hallways and all the way back to where his day started. _“Oi, Mona! Guess who’s back!”_ she bellowed, violently loud in his ear before kicking the door open and pushing Yusuke inside.

 

“Well look, it’s the biggest idiot I know, and I know _Ryuuji,”_ Morgana- _oh, THIS must be the cat Ryuuji mentioned; does he really bring his_ **_cat_ ** _to school with him?-_ drawled, extricating himself from the covers of the bed to glare at him. He faltered when he saw Yusuke, tail twitching in curiosity. “Hey, are you alright?”

 

“Well, he’s either sick or needs an exorcist; I haven’t decided yet,” Futaba replied, ignoring Yusuke’s noise of complaint as she further shoved him into the room.

 

“We _do_ know the Takamakis if all else fails,” Morgana suggested, and the noise Futaba made was something Yusuke could only describe as _inhuman;_ his nose wrinkled in turn. “Jeez, and you call _me_ a demon,” Morgana complained, pawing at her hands when she reached out to aggressively rub at his face.

 

“You wouldn’t want me any other way, now would you?” she refuted, cackling when Morgana started to whine at her. “Right, Akira?”

 

Yusuke’s stomach dropped when the attention rounded back on him, and he coughed awkwardly, shifting his weight as he tangled his fingers in each other. “I- um- I’m going to try and shower,” he clumsily spit out, appalled by how awkward his own voice sounded to his ears and resisting the urge to cringe. He felt so small all of a sudden, uncomfortable and unsteady; he could count the times he’d felt violently out of place on one hand; tiny, scolded, _yes,_ but this?

 

He felt like a heartbeat just a step behind-

He felt _wrong._

 

He knew Futaba caught it from how her face fell- _They must be close, then; that’s good-_ and he winced. She rearranged her face into a patchwork smile instead, all wide teeth and angles. “Just make sure you don’t slip and die while you’re in there, or Sojiro’s gonna have a _fit!”_

 

Yusuke couldn’t help huffing a laugh at that, and the smile warmed into sincerity. “I’ll be sure to do my best,” he replied, and she snorted.

 

“I’ll take care of _this one,_ then, so go! Shoo!” she said, reaching down and scooping a rather displeased Morgana into her arms, his black-on-white yowls of complaint contrasting his weak attempts at batting her away, a strangely human scowl on his face.

 

“And go to _sleep_ when you’re done!” Morgana barked, and Yusuke faintly acknowledged it before tripping into the bathroom.

 

Shutting the door, Yusuke blew out a deep breath and slowly slid to the floor, shutting his eyes and burying his hands deep into his hair. He didn’t plan on _actually_ showering, the idea of violating this body even further making his stomach twist, but needed to just focus on what was going on. His mind was too loud at the moment, confused and pushing against his skull in crooked angles, the colors all wrong and the feeling of unfamiliar curls under his fingers only further cementing the fact.

 

_So, for reasons unknown to me, this dream has me occupying another person’s body. Everything is so…. vivid, so REAL, like some rampant daydream of some distant summer fantasy. Is there some meaning to this, something I’m supposed to glean from it all? Why THIS person, in THIS life? Have I met him before? Am I supposed to know him?_

 

_Why am I here?_

 

“I’m going back to the kitchen! If you’re hungry lemme know, but don’t strain yourself!” Futaba suddenly called, yanking Yusuke away from his mind. He opened his mouth to reply, only discovering that it was rhetorical when he heard the door shutting. He blew out a breath and leaned his head back against the door, thinking of nothing and everything. _Well, I suppose I should run the water, just to keep up the impression._

 

With that train of thought, he pulled himself to his feet, swaying for just a second before trundling toward the shower. It was a much older model than his own, and he absently caught himself admiring the reworked copper-colored fixtures before shaking himself out of his stupor. He turned the knob and resisted the urge to shriek when the water came out a _much_ higher pressure than he expected, but turned away to search for the clothes he’d been wearing this morning.

 

 _Maybe it all IS just a dream and I’m overthinking it all,_ he thought as thumbed his way down the uniform’s shirt buttons, half-focusing on watching his- no, _Akira’s_ fingers working their way down his chest in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, catching how Akira’s face showed Yusuke deep in thought; the way his lips twisted, the line of his eyes as they squinted in concentration, calculating, yet just blurry enough that it gently cast a hazy film overtop the world around him. _(His vision makes everything look like a summer mirage…)_

 

When he shucked off uniform shirt, he couldn’t help but stare again-

Two parts curiosity and admiration, one tiny, ugly part envious of the near-perfect expanse of skin caught in the crack of evening light from the window.

There were no scars there, nothing but the occasional freckle Yusuke reverently traced and the softness of a growing boy.

 

_There’s nothing sullied here._

 

The thought hit Yusuke so harshly that he suddenly felt the inexplicable urge to cry, and when he looked up, fingers frozen overtop the heartbeat pounding under his skin, he saw his eyes were glittering. He reached up and swiped at them, laughing weakly, as all he could think about was how lovely these eyes looked when sunlight hit them, even laden with tears.

 

***

 

After what felt long enough to constitute as a shower, Yusuke walked back over to shut it off, deciding at the last minute to wet his hair before twisting the dial back to off. With his luck, the water had been running cold, but the bite of freezing pressure over his scalp was more soothing than he realized, shaking out the unruly locks with a sputter before blindly reaching for a towel and pressing it against his now-soaked head.

 

Creeping back toward the main room, fingers curling around the doorframe as he peeked in, Yusuke saw no sight of cat or girl loitering within, and he carefully slipped in. Evening light drifted into the room, painting everything rose-gold as it spilled into the nooks and crannies and other wonderful little places tucked neatly away. Now alone, he was free to poke around, gently tracing fingers over things he knew Akira had casually dropped without a second thought but felt to Yusuke like he was in a museum, the thought of _look but don’t touch_ echoing at the back of his mind.

 

Reaching the desk, he paused to stare at the multitude of photos and other memorabilia lovingly decorating the surface, seeing the faces he recognized from earlier today in addition to some he didn’t. The one that caught his eye was one of three people huddled together under a starry sky, dressed in _yukata_ with mile-wide smiles on their faces: an older man with dark hair and wireframe glasses half-caught in the action of ruffling a young boy’s hair, a much smaller girl with jet-black hair but a familiar cunning playfulness creasing her young features as she clung onto the boy’s arm. A kitten was perched on the boy’s shoulders, bright blue eyes and white paws bright against the dark gray of the _yukata._

 

 _This must be Akira and Futaba when they were much younger,_ Yusuke realized with a faint hitch of breath, recognizing the gentle elegance and the wild curls of Akira. He figured Futaba must’ve dyed her hair, but the wicked grin undeniable in addition to how tightly she clung to Akira’s side. The man he didn’t recognize, but he tentatively applied the name _Sojiro_ from what Futaba had said earlier. None of them looked particularly related to each other, but that didn’t override the ease of the word _family_ that lined the photo, in their faces and the body language of it all.

 

Yusuke reached up and traced a finger down the photo, stopping at the messy neon smile stretched over Akira’s face, childish and delightfully innocent. It glowed, and there was nothing but _joy_ in it; it was beautiful, and made Yusuke’s chest tight with something he couldn’t identify. _I want to see that for myself, someday._

 

_(You’re just in love with this life that isn’t yours.)_

 

He abruptly pulled his fingers away as if burnt, eyes wide. “It’s just a dream,” he mumbled, a sudden wave of exhaustion pulling at his eyelids. He moved toward the bed, stopping when he saw the glint of a sharpie on the edge of the desk, a faint idea coming to mind. He shucked up his sleeve and watched as the red of the bracelet shifted down his wrist, smiling faintly before uncapping the pen. Three characters later and he was done, setting the pen down and collapsing onto Akira’s mess of a bed without a second thought.

 

Maybe he _was_ ill, stuck in some ridiculous fever dream unfettered and unhinged, but even if it was so, and he awoke as himself with only a faintly fading recollection of today, he wouldn’t be able to find it in himself to be upset. _At least it was a good dream,_ he thought, fingers wrapping around the childishly hopeful question he’d scrawled around his arm, burying himself into the warmth of sun-lit blankets and falling asleep to the green-gold hum of the cicadas and the silver duet of the wind and the rain that had just started to gently fall.

 

(He didn’t notice when the door creaked open and a cautious eye peeked in, followed by the tiny pit pat of feet as Morgana carefully crept over the blankets where Yusuke had inelegantly passed out, breathing gently, and curled up carefully in the space of his stomach.)


	2. Sonder (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of a city-bound artist through the eyes of a country boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without further ado, part two is finally here! This is Akira's side of their first day as well as the rest of the introduction, including Yusuke's side of the cast.
> 
> (Kosei is really hard to write without any context, and I have no idea how Japanese prep schools work.... -_-)
> 
> Enjoy!

When Yusuke woke up the next morning to the familiar hum of music singing sweetly from his desk- the rich, dark blues that swam and curled in darkening, ocean-bound shades as the notes of _Clair de Lune_ settled around him- he couldn’t help but be disappointed, but unsurprised nonetheless as the dream began to ebb away. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he slipped out of bed and padded toward his desk to shut the ringtone off, wincing at the pull of soreness and bruises around his chest. As he fully started to wake up, he couldn’t remember why he felt so… _upset,_ chalking it up to nothing more than a bad dream or the headache pounding in his temples.  

 

 _“Yusuke, you better be awake this time before you miss your train again,”_ his sensei called in sparks of scolding, lemon-burnt yellow; Yusuke jumped.

 

“I’ll be out shortly!” he replied, confusion settling over the forefront of his mind. _I’ve never missed the train a day in my life._ “Best get ready, then,” he reasoned, and searched for the notebook he’d left on his desk the night before, underneath the sketchbook he’d haphazardly thrown overtop it out of frustration before turning in for the night.

 

When he reached for it, however, he felt the strangest sense of someone having disturbed his things, an odd energy making his skin shift uneasily. A half-eaten and browning apple he didn’t remember taking from the kitchen sat net to his sketchbook, which had been left open, the draft shuffling through its pages.

 

Hesitantly, he picked it up, cautiously flipping through the pages and freezing when he found unfamiliar writing under the most recent series of drawings of the boy who’d been consuming his dreamscape, nameless and always infuriatingly faceless:

_I don’t really know who you are or where I am, but I...really like your art._

_(‘Really’_ had been underlined and emphasized, clear enough for Yusuke to get the point.)

 

Yusuke blinked, taken aback, before his heart froze as he read the next section.

 

_I don’t know if any of this is real or not, but if it is- I think I’d like to meet you; you seem interesting._

_But, I’d like to know…. Have we met before? You seem to have sketched me, and quite frequently at that, but I don’t think I would forget meeting someone like you._

 

Yusuke nearly choked, sketchbook slipping from his fingers and hitting the desk with a papery-opalescent flutter as a sudden rush of memories hit him, all of the sketches of the boy he couldn’t ever quite make out barreling to the forefront of his mind.  “It- _wasn’t_ a dream?” he whispered, eyes widening when his saw own voice drifting around him in silvery ice-blues. Strangely enough, he’d been expecting charcoal smoke and vermillion, but the lack of its warmth in his ears startled him.

 

His mind was a maw of confusion, a black hole collapsing in on itself as he struggled for the whole of the memory winking in and out of light at the corner of his mind, spinning and spinning-

 

 _His name, his name- what was his_ **_name-?_ **

 

_“Yusuke! I’m not calling for you again!”_

 

Yusuke sucked in a breath, clenching his fingers before clamping them around each other. “Coming, Sensei!”

 _It’s nothing- probably just a prank, or another girl trying to get my attention again. It’s_ **_nothing;_ ** _don’t get distracted._

 

His head was trapped in a dream of golden summertime and smiles from friends he didn’t know, the touch of warm fur and the rumble of a sleeping cat on his chest and tiny hands shoving playfully into his back distracting him as he hastily dressed himself, shoving his books into his bag and rushing for the door.

Now in the hallway, everything started to fade back into non-existence as he slid around the corner to where his sensei was waiting for him at the table, a newspaper in one hand and a cup in the other, raised to his lips as he watched Yusuke over the rim of his thin glasses.

 

Madarame Ichiryusai was not a man to be trifled with, and certainly not one to be underestimated:

Patience was undeniably one of his greatest virtues, as should be so with any great artist, but he was able to use his as a weapon should he feel the need to. He was calm and kind, yet there was a darker side to him that Yusuke only ever glimpsed on days where his temper- horribly infamous amongst his stream of pupils that came and went- left messy lines on paper and fresh easels and even skin alike should he feel the need to use it as a canvas.

 

Yusuke knew all too well what it felt like, where the smallest of errors became magnified in his sensei’s eyes and it was far too late to apologize for it before all he heard was the razor-sharp burnt-ochre snarl behind normally sunshine-yellow words exploding around him.

(How could be fight back, though, when this was the man who granted him a home, his kindness, his tutelage?)

 

“Good morning, Sensei,” Yusuke greeted quietly, skirting around the counter to grab a glass of water before departing. Something warned him not to meet Madarame’s eye, but he waited, waited to hear what color was under his words.

 

“Well, you seem yourself again today,” Madarame said evenly, and Yusuke’s fingers clenched around his cup.

 

_Still yellow, but the edges are burnt- he’s only slightly upset._

_But why?_

 

“Pardon?” Yusuke asked, eyebrows knit as he slowly turned to face him.

 

Madarame huffed a chuckle, removing his glasses and crossing his arms, paper now ignored in front of him. “Something seemed to have gotten into you yesterday, and you were rather…. well, let’s use _tetchy_ to describe that,” he replied, and while there was a smile on his face, the edges were too sharp.

 

Yusuke’s stomach went cold, dropping like a broken elevator as his heart when the opposite way up into his throat. _No, I can’t have- I don’t recall ever acting like that._

 

“You were horribly late, too, and uncharacteristically so,” Madarame continued, smile dropping. “You should know better than to waste my time having me drive you into school, Yusuke.”

 

**_What?_ **

 

“Of course, Sensei,” Yusuke replied instantly, fingers resisting the urge to fidget and tug at each other. “It won’t happen again, I assure you- I suppose it was just the odd dream I had setting me off-kilter.”

 

Madarame sighed, deep and red-orange, and Yusuke cringed. “Don’t bother with such a flimsy excuse,” he said coolly, “if you’re having a bad morning, own up to it, but taking it out on others is just irresponsible. Understand?”

 

Yusuke nodded, but his eyes were on the ground. “Yes, Sensei.”

 

The smile this time was sincere and bright, blinding and painful. “Good. Then, do you think you could help me after you return home?”

 

Yusuke turned back to his water, counting heartbeats as he wrapped his fingers around his glass. “What do you need assistance with? Is everything alright?” he asked, injecting just enough interest to remain even-toned instead of as scolded and small as he felt.

 

Madarame laughed, leaning back in his seat, and the shifting caught Yusuke’s eye as the small pattern of leaves over his _kimono_ caught in the kitchen light. “You worry far too much, sometimes,” he said, light and yellow, before waving him off. “I’m just having a bit of trouble in coming up with inspiration for the latest exhibition, and I wanted to have another set of eyes on what I’ve looked at a hundred times over.”

 

Yusuke nodded once again over the lip of his glass before downing it, surprising himself before setting it down in the sink. “Of course. Two heads are better than one, yes?”

 

A faint glitter of admiration- no, of _possession,_ of pride- shone in Madarame’s eyes. _“Especially_ those gifted with such talent as ourselves.”

 

Yusuke didn’t have any other way to respond as Madarame’s response was the entire answer in itself, and he knew there was no alternate reply he could’ve given.

 

So, he smiled lightly instead, before quietly saying goodbye and heading out of the small apartment toward the elevator. Once inside, he pulled out his phone, sliding it open to the calendar he meticulously kept and squinted once he saw the date. _That’s odd- wasn’t yesterday the 15th? Did I write something in wrong?_

 

He tapped at it a few times, but the _06/17_ refused to fade. Sighing, he was about to turn it off when he saw that something had been written in for the day prior, and he opened it out of curiosity-

 

Only to be met with notes and events he didn’t recall happening, phrasing and format completely off and thoughts all over the place, ending in three words that made Yusuke freeze as it all finally, _finally_ settled into place-

 

“It really _wasn’t_ a dream, then?” he whispered, afraid, thrilled, and confused all at once.

 

(Little did he know, another boy was having a similar revelation in a town far away, and an invisible bond burned between them, silent but deafening nonetheless.)

 

———

 

When Akira awoke that morning to the sound of someone shouting for him, he was _jarred-_ for lack of a better term- and the trend only continued when he flailed for his phone, associating it with the sound that had woken him up and only being granted with the feeling of hard carpet making his face sting from impact.

 

_Did I just… fall out of bed?_

 

It was a stupid thought, considering there wasn’t any way he _could_ fall out of his ground-level futon.

 

 _“Are you awake? Your alarm has been going off for ten minutes!”_ the same voice called, sharp and irritated, and Akira groaned, rubbing at his throbbing hip bone from where it had collided with the floor.

 

“I’m up, I’m _up!”_ Akira called back, annoyance fading for just a moment when he heard how _low_ his voice was, clapping a hand to his throat in shock as his eyes snapped open. _What, am I getting sick or something?_

 

The confusion only cemented when he started to blink into consciousness from his seat on the floor, one hand moving to his hair as he scrubbed through it tiredly. _(Weird, it feels so much silkier than before-)_ “Mona, why didn’t you wake me up?” he grumbled, staggering to his feet toward the source of noise chiming from his phone. It wasn’t the ringtone he normally used (too quiet; he could sleep through a thunderstorm if he was tired enough), and knit his eyebrows as he tapped at it, realizing the phone in his hand was not only the wrong color but the wrong _model,_ dark blue and absent of his familiar lock screen. “What the…”

 

He looked around then, staring at the room he’d woken up in and feeling confusion wind itself tighter and tighter in his mind as unfamiliar settings started to register:

 

The room could’ve been considered clinical if it weren’t for the faintest shade of light blue painting the walls, a painfully apparent lack of personal items spare a desk with the lightest dustings of knickknacks on it: a notebook, a small potted succulent in a blue and gold pot, the phone he was now holding, and what looked to be writing utensils scattered over a few sheets of paper with rampant writing on them.  Reaching for them, he inspected the handwriting, intrigued at how neat it was despite the disconnected and almost wild sense of notes that it outlined. His eyes skipped to the pens then, amazed at how high-quality they seemed despite the second-hand nature of the desk, puzzled when he turned to look the room again with the paper still clutched in his hand and feeling a deep sense of discomfort when he realized that the items on that desk where the only valued things in that room.“Where the hell _am_ I?” he wondered aloud, curious and also confused, before a glint of movement caught his eye and he traced it to a full-length mirror hanging on the opposite wall. _What a minute…_

 

Carefully setting the paper down, he crept toward the mirror with near-silent footsteps, as if making any louder noise would shatter the moment. His breath froze when he reached it, a slight sense of horror yawning in his chest as he was met with a face that wasn’t his own:

 

A thin yet elegant boy stared back at him, pale as ivory; he looked as if he was made of paper- fragile- and Akira pressed long fingers to the line of ribs he could see through the worn shirt he wore. His eyes flickered down to said fingers, soft and cold, and saw the lines of calluses on the sides of the first two fingers of his right hand. His hands moved up to his face, gently pressing the pads of his fingers under the dark blue eye that stared back reverently before reaching up to brush perfectly straight- albeit slept on- hair out of his face, thumbing at the soft strands that were so dark they almost seemed blue.

 

It was a face of born elegance with none of the practiced mischievousness and summer-stained childhood Akira was used to seeing, and some tiny part of him was ashamed at how quickly he blushed at the realization that this boy was _attractive._ (Said realization only worsened when he catalogued what he looked like with light pink curling slightly up and over cheekbones. _He even makes blushing look pretty- I just look like a hot mess...)_ “Who _are_ you?” Akira breathed, shivering when a voice that wasn’t his own spoke his thoughts, low and rich and- _blue?_

 

_“Yusuke, are you ill today? Your train leaves in fifteen minutes and you aren’t out!”_

 

 _“Shit,”_ Akira blurted, wheeling around to look for some semblance of a uniform, spotting something folded neatly on top of a dresser behind him. Bright, deep purple greeted him as he picked it up, looking for a school logo of any sort and failing. _Is this what I’m supposed to wear? I don’t see anything else, so…_

 

 **_“Yusuke!”_ ** this time, Akira winced, hands clapping over his ears as a strange yellow burnt its way over his vision. It wasn’t vibrant, but it was _weird,_ washed-out and diluted like an afterimage.

 

“I _said_ I was up!” Akira replied, panic only increasing when he saw the faintest shades of thin, ice blue curl around him in the echo of his own words. Light and just barely there, they made Akira knit his eyebrows.

 

_This must be one **hell** of a dream if I’m hearing colors. _

 

_***_

 

A few minutes later and Akira was dressed as best he could, trying to shake away the lingering darkness of what he’d seen underneath the flimsy night shirt he worse. (Scars and bruises overtop faintly-exposed ribs and delicate hips, all so damningly _thin_ for someone who seemed to be Akira’s own age. Fresh bruises screamed in purple-blue down one of his sides, and Akira found himself skating cautious fingertips down the inside of his bicep to where a fresh patch was hiding something that had been bleeding, blending into the paleness of the soft skin and the raised white lines as thin as angel hair winding down his arms in various shapes and depths.)

 

Akira didn’t know if it was a mix of self-harm and abuse or purely the latter, but his heart was caught in a tug of war between _wanting_ to know and not, a deep sadness permeating his mind. The last time he had felt this level of empathy was during the Kamoshida scandal, where it felt as if all of the gods in the world decided to curse three of the closest people he loved to the point where he nearly lost Shiho, but-

 

 _Stop. It’s been two years now, and they’ve all moved on. Don’t go reopening old wounds,_ he scolded himself, shaking his head sharply in an attempt to dispel the darkness. He returned to scouring the desk for anything he thought looked like school materials, scooping up the books from the desk and pausing to look through a small and somewhat nondescript book on top of the other. Thumbing it open, he blinked in surprise when he was met by _sketches,_ and _good ones_ at that: faces, eyes, the occasional public setting, but mostly people caught in the most inane of activities and unaware of their image being copied onto paper. Flipping to another page, he saw that this spread was occupied almost entirely by what looked like a pair of alleycats, ragged but sweet, and Akira felt a pang of unbidden sadness as he realized he missed hearing Morgana barking at him with his weight warm on his shoulder.

 

Flipping back to the front, Akira’s eyes caught on a line of carefully-penned characters on the bottom corner of the hard cover, immaculate but tiny: _Kitagawa Yusuke._ Five characters, each one written with every stroke precise and clear. _Hm. I guess that’s_ **_his_ ** _name, but…. why am_ **_in his body?_ **

 

Akira’s fingers were scant centimeters from tracing over the name before the door swung sharply open, less slammed and more a warning- _look at me._ His head snapped up, heart thundering as he locked eyes with an older man whose face was only thinly concealing annoyance.

 

With age leaving only a few thin strands of black in the gray hair tied back and the pure white of his goatee, Akira sensed a fatherly man before him, but something in the traditional attire he wore and the line of his head as he faintly lifted his chin to him smudged that definition. “I’ve no idea what you decided to waste your time on this morning, but at this rate there’s no way you’re going to be reaching the station on time,” the man said, thin and low yet carefully placed in each syllable; there was no misunderstanding the faint threat to his words despite Akira’s utter lack of context, and the coldness of it shocked him.

 

 _“Excuse_ me?” Akira blurted, eyebrows knitting sharply as his fingers clenched around the sketchbook in an odd gesture of protectiveness. He internally winced when his shock warped his words to sound much ruder than he intended.

 

One of the man’s eyebrows raised, entire demeanor shifting as his hands slipped into his sleeves and his head tilted slightly. “Is that any way to address me, young man, _especially_ when your lack of punctuality means I have to leave in the middle of this project to take you to school?” he said flatly, scolding yet somehow neutral, and Akira’s definition of the man was sharply erased and replaced with the correct one:

 

_Master._

 

_Just what kind of situation is this boy- no, Kitagawa-san?- in?_

 

Akira blinked, calculating, before _(dream?)_ reality kicked in. “I- I’m sorry,” Akira forced out, trying to backtrack, “I wasn’t trying to be rude, honestly.”

 

The man regarded him warily, a faint glint of confusion in his eye. “Did you get caught in countryside dream, perhaps?” he started, question faintly amused.

 

“Huh?”

 

The man chuckled lightly. “The dream world seems to have swallowed your grace, my boy,” he started, shifting away from the slight smile perched on his lips to a thin line. “I suggest you remember not only your place but the time; you’re running on the borrowed minutes of a busy man, and I don’t take lightly to this setback.”

 

Akira wanted to shrink away, acutely aware of how much he took Sojiro’s patience and calm understanding for granted. “Yes, sir.” His fingers squeezed so tightly around the sketchbook that he wasn’t sure if it was the faux-leather cover or his joints creaking.

 

The man snorted. _“Do_ be rid of that awful accent before we leave,” he said, before retreating through the door, pausing to meet his eye sharply once more. “You have five minutes to gather yourself, or you’re to walk,” he added, sharp as pins, before the door shut completely.

 

 _Short of breath_ was the only way Akira could describe himself in that moment, so tiny and confused despite the suddenly-tall frame he occupied, fingers clamped around a well-loved sketchbook in a room he didn’t recognize.

 

“What the _fuck,”_ he breathed, less of a question than a sudden exhalation of words he felt best fit the situation.

 

(He could hear Futaba’s crowing laughter in his ears in time to Sojiro’s gentle-but-not scolding for his language, the soft and disapproving tail of Morgana flicking over his shoulder as he _hmmphed_ in his ear.

Then, he was suddenly awash in a sense of loneliness and fear all at once, tight and cold, and something told him that it wasn’t the first time this body’s heart had been touched by such a darkness.)

 

 _Well, I guess I have to finish out this dream,_ he thought, sweeping the books into a worn school bag he found tucked neatly under the desk, a school emblem stitched onto its side _(What is that, a star?)_ before huffing to himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a dream this _realistic_ before, but I just need to wait it out until I wake up.”

 

***

 

The walk down to the ground floor was nothing but _awkward,_ tightly wrapped around Akira like cellophane that was slowly smothering him, but the air lightened once they reached the car and Akira could focus his attention on the scenery around them as the man backed them out of the condo lot.

 

From the plain and almost shabby nature of the condo Akira had seen in his quick dash out of the room, he hadn’t been expecting the utter _explosion_ of color and lavishness that blurred past him as they reached the main streets, and he couldn’t help but gape the second he realized where he was:

 

 _Tokyo- I’m actually in_ **_Tokyo_ ** _?_

 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone; train rides were long and Futaba didn’t do too well in big crowds, so trips were few and far between for special occasions. He’d been meaning to take Futaba into Akihabara as of late as she’d been talking Akira’s ear off about wanting to build her own laptop from scratch, and figured it would make a fun birthday trip.

 

But _that_ was barely a distant idea, with the very idea of Tokyo nothing more than time-stained memories that even his old photos couldn’t do justice as the revitalized present-day life of _right now_ was flickering past in a timed-shutter flashbulb of color was passing him. _So many cars all at once-_

 

“Something catch your fancy this morning?” the man suddenly asked, and Akira jumped, leaning back from where he’d been looking out the window. Akira froze, trying to think of an adequate reply that didn’t sound outright stupid before a chuckle cut him off. “I didn’t mean to startle you out of your own mind; heaven knows how troublesome that can be to our kind,” the man said as they coasted to a stop at the red light. His fingers drummed over the steering wheel, eyes cast out over the line of traffic ahead of him. “I suppose seeing a different view of your regular routine _would_ spark something for you.”

 

Akira was vexed by the sudden change in personality, unable to respond as he turned his words over in his mind. _What does he mean by ‘our kind’?_ He picked at his cuticles, struck by the odd feeling of his nails being much shorter- though still neat- than he kept them, and turning them over to curiously study his hands instead. As he followed the creases of his palms and the curve of each thin knuckle, a faint sense of recognition struck him as she shifted his fingers, cut off by the man speaking once again. “If you caught something on this ride, you better make sure to sketch it out before you lose it,” he said, before adding a faint _“So at least something comes to fruition from this,”_ that made Akira wince before he registered the words.

 

 _Sketch-? Oh, duh, I was looking at his sketchbook earlier,_ Akira thought dumbly, resisting the urge to smack himself in the face before looking back down at his hands. _So, I guess I’m borrowing the hands of an artist for this dream, huh?_ He fluttered his fingers, fascinated as he realized to Yusuke, they were literally his tools, his most valuable possession, which explained how neat and unscarred they were. At that thought, his eyes slid from his palms over to the man beside him, a faintly venomous feeling settling behind his breastbone. _If_ **_he’s_ ** _also an artist, it would explain why Kitagawa-san’s hands are immaculate and his chest is a mess,_ he thought bitterly, before lacing them together to keep from fidgeting more.

 

The rest of the car ride passed in silence, and Akira kept his eyes focused on the window as he resisted both the urge to yawn as well as pull out his- _well, no,_ **_Kitagawa-san’s-_ **phone and capture the busy scenery around them. He reveled in how unfamiliar it was, where buildings gave way to streets and streets into lines of people herding gray upon multi-colored lights, so different from the open and airy green-on-green of Itomori where a person here and there speckled the landscape. The drone of the engine was a faint blue-tinged gray, like electrical smoke as it faintly lingered in the corner of Akira’s vision, lulling him dangerously close to sleep.

 

He was spared from the danger of doing as such when the car turned into a parking lot, the jolt jarring Akira from the sappy fingers of exhaustion pulling at his eyes. (He didn’t know if it was he himself who was exhausted or the body he was in, an echo of a reality he wasn’t privy to.) Peering out the window, he saw that the lot they were in was a block or two away from what looked like a school building in the distance, obscured by the twisting and shuddering edges of other buildings, and a sudden lurch of panic deep behind Akira’s chest reminded him that he had _no idea_ where he was or where he was supposed to go.

 

_Oh shit, I’m supposed to look like I know what I’m doing._

 

“Hm, seems you’ve time to spare before your first bell,” the man said, face plain but words lightly-laced in something dark; a color he couldn’t name flashed in the corner of his eye in a wispy warning. “I suppose you should be grateful for this sidetrack, as you seemed to have something on your mind on the way here- I hope it comes to something of substance.”

 

Akira didn’t like the way his final statement sounded, a red flag in his words making the hair at the back of his neck stand up as they washed over him. It wasn’t the individual words themselves but how they were strung together, the debatably polite expression on his face, how something _hungry_ flashed oh-so-faintly in his eyes. “I’m sorry for taking your time,” he diverted instead, already wrapping his hand in the straps of his bag and reaching for the door, “it won’t happen again.”

 

A faint laugh made him pause, handle already pulled. “It’s foolish to assume it will,” the man said thinly, and Akira felt his heavy stare on him; Akira refused to meet his gaze. “Keep that in mind, Yusuke.”

 

Akira nodded dumbly and stepped out, making sure not to slam the door too hard behind him. _It won’t happen again because I’m never coming back,_ he thought resolutely, punctuated by the sound of the car immediately backing up. Akira shuddered despite the summer heat. _What kind of a dream am I even having?_ He shook his head then, looking back up toward the school in the distance before setting off determinedly.

 

Out of curiosity, he slid the phone back out of his pocket as he made his way down the sidewalk, scrutinizing the object. It was jarring from the pale white of his own phone, pristinely kept despite being out of date, a different brand entirely. Winking up at him was the basic image of purple-blue nebula, stars speckling over it, and Akira huffed lightly. _This city boy needs to see some real stars,_ he thought, a faint smile curving at his lips before he tapped at the screen, surprised when it opened without prompting him for a password. He blinked, before peering at the neatly-organized home screen _(same background, huh?)_  and tapping on a calendar journal app that was fishing for attention in bright red notifications. A detailed checklist ordered by date opened up before him, and shock rattled through him as he saw a life perfectly recounted in bullets:

 

_06/05:_

_*Work day- help Sensei with exhibition set up and selection_

_ >Follow up with Nakanohara-senpai if I can reach him _

_*English exam in two days, study grammar structures_

_*Talk with Satou-sensei about new concept_

_ >Have a back-up? (Maybe ask Sensei) _

 

He blinked, then skipped down closer to that day:

 

_06/07:_

_*Spent money on new canvasses yesterday, remember to walk last two stations_

_*Try out the Shibuya underground refreshment stand (Something about a new kind of tea?)_

_*Make sure to clean up from last night before Sensei returns home_

_*Check stock on reds_

_ >Do I have enough of that ultramarine I needed? _

_*Ask about assignment for math_

 

_06/10:_

_*Saw a set of good sketching pencils (would they go well with the notebooks in Jinbocho?)_

_*Set up reviewing session for English_

_*Remember to stop by the convenience store outside the Ginza line_

_*Get that tea again from Shibuya_

 

_06/11:_

_*Remember to buy another box of gauze_

_ >Change dressings _

_*Work today- help cover for Niijima-san_

_*Pages 121-134 of history text_

_*Start drafting for English exam_

 

And the most recent one-

 

_06/15:_

_*Tried sketching the boy from the dreams again (face wasn’t quite right)_

_*Exhibition work again_

_*Check back near that alleyway; I think the kittens are old enough to move on their own now_

_*Laundry day tomorrow_

_*Ask for grocery list_

 

“He really keeps everything like this?” Akira mumbled to himself, flipping through past days and sliding open side notes and links purple from frequent use, dates to remember, and comments about his own artistic endeavors. Clicking open a section titled _SCHEDULE,_ he was greeted with the sight of each class and its respective teacher in order, his homeroom and even the alternate room for what looked like his art studies class jotted down. What made Akira’s heart sink were the smaller comments written underneath of each teacher; not cruel or the typical complaints of a high school student, but logistical and smaller things he’d noticed about each of them in turn: habits when talking, tiny details about how best to work with them, hand gestures, voice ticks, student preferences.

 

_He’s made himself a guide to be a perfectionist._

 

Thinking back on the man’s- _Sensei?-_ reaction from that morning, Akira bit out a sigh in understanding before pocketing the phone. _I wonder what he’s like, meeting him in person…_ He blew out a breath. “”S just a dream, Akira,” he muttered, acutely aware of the lack of a chiding voice from his shoulder.

(He thought back to the notes, briefly thinking about the ‘boy from the dreams’, only for it to slide away as he dodged people left and right.)

 

***

 

When he was met with the glittering white sign proudly boasting _Kosei High School,_ Akira had to resist the urge to gawk.

 

 _This place is frickin’_ **_huge!_ **

 

He’d heard of Kosei before, recognizing it as the prestigious school of high-class students (or at least high-class parents), but something familiar about the name niggled at him; something in passing, like the distant voice of a television. He shook off the thought and weaved his way around the crowd toward the front doors.

 

While on the taller side himself, Akira was shocked by how Yusuke utterly _towered_ over most of the classmates milling around him in a sea of light blue shirts and striped ties, several heads taller than most of the girls he saw in gaggles here and there. He was able to use his height to his advantage, however, slipping through doorways and past crowds, focused on trying to find the lockers before he ended up late.

 

 _Why does this place need such a big lobby?_ Akira thought, bewildered, trying to weave his way toward where he saw people changing their shoes just on the other side of the open room he stood at. Anxiety suddenly cramped in his stomach at the sight of such a _sheer amount_ of people, surprising him. _It’s just a dream- these people aren’t even noticing me anyway._ A sudden surge in noise made him jump, however, and he saw a small crowd of girls around _someone_ Akira couldn’t pick out near one of the far doors, and he used the disruption to propel himself across the room.

 

Halfway across the room he heard a shout in warped and washed-out rust that made him wince, but he ignored it as he dodged the other students. “Kitagawa-kun! _Kitagawa-kun, wait!”_

 

Dimly, Akira registered that _he_ was the one being called for- or Yusuke, rather, but slipped around the corner toward the lockers before _whoever_ that was found him. It was jarring, surrounded by people he didn’t know when he knew _everyone_ at Shujin; small towns know everyone’s dirty laundry when there’s nowhere to air it out. He sucked in a breath and pressed off of the wall he’d been leaning against in search of Yusuke’s locker, scanning name after unfamiliar name.

 

 _I probably look stupid,_ Akira thought resignedly as he tediously wove his way through the rows, but clicked his tongue, admonishing himself before his eyes caught on the name he was looking for. Reaching up, his eyebrows knit when the door didn’t open, and despite jiggling it- _Maybe it’s a sticky door?-_ he stupidly realized that there was a lock guarding him from opening it.

 

Akira blinked, patting down his pockets, before a sinking feeling settled in his chest. “Shit, I don’t think I remember grabbing any keys,” he swore, unhooking his bag from his shoulder and rummaging through it in search of a lanyard, a keyring, a loose key, _anything-_

 

But found a few spare bobby pins instead.

_Hm._

 

He could already hear Morgana’s scolding voice in his ear, but this was a dream- what consequences would he face?

_(Besides, I’m breaking into my own locker as it is…)_

 

It was a basic lock from what he figured, and Akira was able to chew off the soft rubber ends of the bobby pins before bending them into the right shape and carefully getting to work, peeking around the corner of the lockers for prying eyes.  Being old and most likely worn from use, the lock released with only a minor amount of prying, the tiniest click sounding like a victory bell before he pocket the twisted pins and peered inside, seeing a neat stack of books and other supplies beside a pair of loafers. Akira sighed, reaching in to grab what he needed and carefully shutting the door, before sliding his phone out of his pocket and pulling up the schedule he’d seen earlier. “Alright, let’s just get this over with,” he mumbled, only to groan as he realized he didn’t have the slightest clue as to where to find the third year rooms.

 

_***_

 

After getting lost enough that he wandered in the direction of the dorms, Akira eventually found room 3-B, nestled upstairs next to the other third-year classrooms and the student faculty room. He was resisting the urge to pant from his trek up and down multiple flights of stairs, lost in different wings of different specialties before he reached the right location, and he braced himself on his knees just outside the door. “Way-” he choked, trying to hold in a cough- _“way_ too many stairs.”

 

“Kitagawa-kun, are you quite alright?” a light voice asked, and he looked over to see a petite wisp of a woman staring at him; had it not been for her lack of uniform and the administrator lanyard dangling from her pocket, he would’ve assumed she was a student.

 

He straightened abruptly, hands instinctively slipping into his pockets before regarding her. “Just a bit tired from the stairs,” he replied weakly, a nervous smile tugging lightly at the corner of his lips.

 

She laughed lightly then, hands shifting to hook her thumbs into the line of her belt loops. “I understand the struggle,” she admitted, shrugging, “I tend to get turned around on them no matter what I try, and I’ve been working here for five years!” Light, cheery periwinkle twined around him as she spoke, catching in the faintest slopes of an accent he couldn’t quite place, gentle and soft to match the image of the woman. She was short and very pale, light brown hair tied back in haphazard braid. Jewelry glittered like lost stars in the casual nature of her clothes, twinkling in her ears and her throat, and while her right arm was bare, her left was bedecked in softly tinkling bangles, and a small silver band glittered around her ring finger.  

 

She didn’t _look_ like any sort of teacher he’d ever encountered, though Akira supposed he didn’t quite have the right to judge when his own repertoire of teachers included a physically and sexually abusive volleyball coach and a homeroom teacher that _everyone_ knew moonlighted as a maid but pretended not to.

_Well, this IS Dream-Tokyo, I guess._

 

“I tried to find the elevator, but I swear this place doesn’t _have_ any,” Akira replied blithely, surprised when he earned another laugh as she propped a hand on her hip.

 

“My, you’re certainly a delight today, as usual,” she teased, shaking her head. “You know we’d be shot dead if we tried taking the service lift despite the backwardness of all the stairs; it’s contrariwise and bothersome, if you ask me.” Her face twisted into faux-annoyance, and Akira couldn’t resist the urge to laugh himself, pausing when he heard a noise like bluebells spill from his lips.

 

(While disconcerting to hear another person’s laughter from his mouth, he was caught off guard by how low it was once again, and richly blue at that- he barely staved off the urge to blush.)

 

The teacher’s face slipped back in gentle concern, shifting her weight off of her hip. “Is something bothering you?”

 

“No, I’m okay,” he quickly backtracked, eyes widening. “Sorry, kinda spaced out there for a second.”

 

She knit her eyebrows. “You comin’ down with something? Your voice sounds off today.” He squinted at her. _This is the second time someone’s pointed that out- what, is my voice_ **_that_ ** _weird here?_ She sighed before shaking her head. “Never mind that- you’re going to be late if I keep you any longer! I’ll see you this afternoon!” With that, she waved him off and headed down the hallway, greeting a few other students as she went.

 

 _Well, at least_ **_she’s_ ** _nice. I wonder which teacher she is? I don’t think I can tell based on what he wrote…._

 

“There he is again, just standing there and staring into space again…. So weird,” he heard a voice say, and his eyes skated over to a trio loitering outside another homeroom; two girls, one guy.

 

“Shit, he’s looking at you- do you think he heard?”

 

_Damn right._

 

“Relax, it’s just Kitagawa; not like he’s gonna do anything.”

 

_What?_

 

The words ground at his nerves, crooked and grating against his ears as a flush of annoyance burnt through him. He knew the weight of rumours and unwarranted ones at that, and he couldn’t help the stony expression that spread over his face as he mercilessly stared them down, drawing himself up to his full height as he shifted the bag on his shoulder.

 

The look on all three of their faces was priceless as he reached for the homeroom door and slid it open.

 

The moment lasted for approximately three seconds until he was face-to-face with a class of people staring at him, unfamiliar, pressing into him sharply enough that he lowered his burning face and shut the door, shuffling away from it. _People are still the same, even in my own dreams,_ he thought miserably, biting the bullet to ask where his desk was, ignoring how his stomach twisted as the girl shot him an odd look as her friend smothered a laugh into her hand before pointing to the back corner-

 

In the dark, away from the window.

No one said hello, no one was waiting for him, and no one paid him any mind whatsoever.

 

It was like he didn’t _exist._

 

The rest of the classes were spent with Akira sitting silently in second-hand sadness, an ache of empathy for the lonely boy whose life he was borrowing for the day.

_No one deserves to be this alone._

 

(He doodled instead, then, crooked and goofy in the margins of Yusuke’s notes, though his own talent was quashed by the casual and second-nature drawings littered throughout the previous sections of notes, where he saw perfect reflections of the back of students' heads from in front of him copied down on the pages.)

 

***

 

_06/16_

_*Missed the train today_

_ >Driven into school today by guardian? Master? _

_*Please tell me why there are so many damn stairs in here_

_ >Finally being tall came in handy though _

_* Other kids talk shit about him??_

 

\------

 

After a laborious algebra review session, Akira dropped his head into his hands, temples pounding. The frantic scrawl of notes trapped in the notes he’d looked through reflected what Yusuke had written about Yoshida-sensei- ' _aggressive, fast-paced (don’t fall behind')-_ and his mind had been reduced to putty. There was still a period left to go, and Akira dreaded it.

 

“Look alive, Kitagawa-kun, you can’t crash in here,” Yoshida-sensei called, and Akira jolted, looking up at him.

 

“Sorry,” he blurted, skin tingling at the sound of tittering laughter barely contained around him.

 

Yoshida-sensei sighed, running a hand through his hair. “If you want to sleep, do it in your specialities class, alright? Now shoo, everyone, I have tests to prepare!” A unanimously gray groan echoed through the room at his words, and he chuckled. “What, you can’t expect to learn math by pretending to listen to me, right?”

 

Akira let out a breath before reaching for his bag, shoveling the books into it before extricating his phone from his back pocket, swiping a few stubborn locks of hair out his eye as he looked down at the screen. A few newly-familiar keystrokes later and he opened the journal back up, typing as he made his way out of the room.

 

_06/16_

_*Math test coming up apparently_

_ >I didn’t know squat of the material _

 

Closing that, he stopped to lean against the corner of the hallway before squinting at the schedule, trying to figure out what _‘specialties class’_ Yoshida-sensei had mentioned, before his eye caught on room number of an art studio; below it was his blurb on a Satou-sensei, who seemed far less intense than the previous instructors thus far. Akira snorted. _An art class, of course, you idiot- this school DOES have one of the most prolific high school arts programs in Tokyo. Isn’t this where a bunch of that famous artist’s students were recruited from?_

 

With his head craned over his phone, Akira made his way down a flight of stairs and into a subsection of the school, dodging inattentive students left and right. From the slowly emerging posters about arts contests and upcoming productions and the faint sound of a practicing band humming in faint brass _(there’s a single dot of orange- are they out of tune or something?) ,_ he figured he was slowly approaching his location, and pocketed his phone as he crept his way through the slowly-thinning crowd.

 

Upon finding the classroom labeled _ART STUDIO,_ he found that the doors were slid open, exposing a classroom lit by the gentle window-light and a few students quietly unpacking by easels. Peeking his head in, he lingered by the door for a second before a familiar voice interrupted him from the back of the room. “Oh, you’re here much earlier than usual, Kitagawa-kun! Tired of stairs, today?” the woman from before asked, and Akira froze.

 

“It’s you again,” he blurted- _stupidly; what the fuck, Akira?-_ before cringing, fingers clenching around the straps of his bag.

 

She laughed brightly instead of staring at him, setting down a box of paintbrushes jingling against their cups in lavender tings. “Can’t get rid of me no matter how hard you try, huh?”

 

Akira stared at her dumbly. _So this must be Satou-sensei- she doesn’t look Japanese, though?_

_('Patient, works best off-the-cuff- doesn’t mind helping to flesh out concepts over and over')_

 

Satou-sensei paused, before snapping her fingers, a bright _oh!_ matching the pumpkin orange of the snap. “That’s right- you said you wanted to ask me about a model you had for another painting, but you wanted to see if you could get him sketched out first,” she said, dusting off her hands. “Did he come to you a bit clearer this time?”

 

_I have no idea what to say._

That thought ended up being translated as a single, eloquent “Um.”

 

She huffed a laugh. “It’s alright if you’re not ready, but if you are, I wouldn’t mind seeing the sketches you have this time; the first ones were certainly interesting despite his lack of substance.”

 

“No, it’s okay,” he forced out, setting down his stuff by the nearest stool and rooting through the bag to search for the small sketchbook he rifled through that morning. Akira wasn’t sure if there was sense of violation in handing over Yusuke’s sketchbook without his explicitly doing it himself, but from what she’d said about the work before spurred him on, detecting a faint sense of trust. He hoped he was guessing correctly as he handed it to her, nodding when she looked back for confirmation.

 

Humming, she carefully flipped toward the back of the book, settling on a few pages and scouring them. “As always, your model work is phenomenal,” she said before pausing, tapping on something drawn there. “You’ve got more of a face this time! I see that he’s still hazy, but it’s clearer- does he have a name for you yet?” Akira, having no idea what she was looking at, shook his head, hoping it wasn’t too frantic. A faint line creased at the corner of her smile, like a frown but not as deep-seated. Then, it sprung back into a grin, warm eyes glittering as she handed the book back to him. “I think you should keep looking for him; he certainly has you driven, as a muse should, and I think the more you chase him, the more you’ll unlock in yourself!”

 

“Thank you,” he said numbly, feeling uncomfortable as he accepted praise for something he hadn’t done. His eyes flickered down to the spread she’d been looking at, curious, and his eyes went wide. He’d seen some of the sketches in his passing morning stupor, but now he was seeing the lines and the oh-so-human smudges of fingerprints in front of him-

 

Of _himself._

 

“What the…?” He held the book closer to his face, inspecting it, thumb running over the lines. While his face was smudgy and uncertain, it was still _him; him_ in the lines of his shoulders and flighty hands, hair unruly and legs curled underneath him or stretched out across the bottom of the page.

 

Something twanged behind his breastbone like plucked cello strings, deep and reverberating.

 

“Is something wrong?” Satou-sensei cut in, head tilted and the palest pink fluttering around her, lovely but still washed out, like Akira was looking through a frosted screen. “Did something come to you?”

 

Akira tore his eyes away from himself before shaking his head. “No- I mean-” he sighed, then ran a hand through his hair- “I don’t know.”

 

She met his eye, crossing her arms. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’ve been a bit off today,” she said; he looked away. She patted his arm. “Today’s a break day since we’re not beginning our next project until next week, so you can do whatever you like until class is over.” He nodded, and she gave him another grin.

 

“Satou-sensei, may I have a moment?” another student called, politely waving from where she was perched on her stool, sketchbook open in her lap.

 

“Of course, Nona-chan, just a second,” she answered, gesturing for a moment before turning back to Akira. “You alright?” He hummed, and she smiled. “Keep on it, then; he can’t be too far now,” she added, gesturing to the sketches before winding her way around the mishmash of supplies and seats before kneeling down to help the other girl.

 

Akira blew out a deep breath before dropping onto to the stool nearest his bag, heart thundering and pounding lopsidedly. _This is just a dream, so of COURSE I could show up like this in a sketchbook,_ he reasoned, tracing over the pages and flipping to earlier pages. These were softer, more curious in their lines, and Akira could sense a reverence in the shapes, an instinctive response from the very body he was sharing. The more recent pages belied more frustration, to the point where his face had been scratched out entirely, the words _who are you?_ written over and over again to the point that Akira was nearly dizzy.

 

The most recent of the drawings was the one that made his heart trip, breath catching:

It was him sitting back against a doorframe, half of his face obscured as it was turned to look out toward something in the distance. His legs were stretched across the floor, hands buried in the fur of a cat curled comfortably in his lap. From the little bit of his face visible, there was a peace etched there, calm in the half-line of his lips as he watched whatever it was outside.

 

It was him from two nights ago, when he’d opened the screen door to watch the sunset, Morgana of course accompanying him until they both fell asleep.

 

Akira closed the sketchbook with a snap before he could dwell on it any further.

 

***

 

_06/16_

_*What I know so far:_

_-Name: Kitagawa Yusuke, 18 (I assume), third year, lives in Tokyo_

_-Tall, attractive_

_-Very neat, but a bit forgetful?_

_-I think he hears colors_

_-Physically abused (by guardian?)_

_-Artist, has sketches of me?? (Art teacher seems nice- Satou-sensei?)_

_-No siblings- adopted? Taken in??_

_-No friends that I’ve met_

_-Doesn’t eat much (who doesn’t bring lunch with them to school??)_

_-Seems to have an issue with money_

 

_\-----_

 

With the sound of the bell releasing him, Akira was now faced with the realization that he’d have to use the train station, and he couldn’t deny the fact that it left him a bit queasy. He was about to pull out a map when a notification chimed from his phone in a pleasant emerald ding. On the screen was a reminder cheerily telling him that he was supposed to clock in at work in an hour, and his stomach dropped. “Oh, you’ve _got_ to be kidding,” he muttered, pocketing his phone with a sigh from the depths of his soul before angrily scrubbing his hands through his hair.

 

He wanted to go home, wanted to _sleep,_ tired of masquerading as whomever this was, jeopardizing whatever relationships (should he even call them that) Yusuke already had; he missed his family, and he missed Itomori and its simplicity. Instead, he was swiping the phone open to look for an indication of where Yusuke worked, searching through old notes and text threads in hopes of finding something. Unsurprisingly, he found a neat schedule of a work schedule- after school on Wednesdays and Saturdays as someplace called _Hanasaki’s Bouquets_ in Shibuya.

 

Truth be told, Akira had no idea where he was in Tokyo nor how to get to Shibuya, his heritage laughing in his face as he felt like a sheep in some twisted nightmare dimension. With Itomori being the only place he knew, he was out of his depth, no longer in the small town he could navigate blindfolded.  As he stared down at the train lines open on the map in front of him, he sucked in a deep breath. “I can do this,” he decided determinedly, before setting forward into the massive herd of people in front of him.

 

***

 

He couldn’t do it.

 

Stuck in some limbo station between lines, he’d collapsed onto a bench worn out and frustrated as he got further and further turned around. His saving grace, however, was the voice presently on the phone, warm velvet purples and lavenders in his ear the minute he’d picked up. _“Um, hello? This is Yusuke-kun, right? I know I don’t normally call, but you’re late today- is everything okay?”_

 

The phone ID said _Okumura-san,_ the name clicking from where he’d seen it written in his notes. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he started, wincing as his back complained from the uncomfortable bench. “I just got a little turned around, is all.”

 

 _“Oh! Did you get distracted by something again?”_ she asked, a cheery pop of soft indigo.

 

Akira laughed blithely, shuffling the bag to his other shoulder. “I guess you could say that,” he settled on, looking around. “I’m... not entirely sure where I am, however.”

 

 _“Mako-chan’s still doing inventory and Hanasaki-san isn’t in yet, so you’re okay for now,”_ she replied, _“so would you like some help?”_

 

A tiny voice in Akira’s head cheered. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

 

_“Of course not! Now, where’d you end up?”_

 

Akira took a breath and dived in, rattling off what he saw around him and the few stations he remembered. She patiently listened before relaying the next set of directions, letting him work his way through the crowds and slipping onto the rush-hour laden trains until he was on the right track to Shibuya, as she delightedly informed him. _“I’m not sure how you ended up all the way near Ikebukuro, but ‘the artistic mind shan’t be laden with restrictions’, is what you always say, right?”_

 

A grin spread over Akira’s face, a faint bubble of warmth blooming in affection for this odd person he was living as. “I suppose so,” he agreed, watching the sun slowly start to turn golden as the sunset began to settle over it, the light winking off of building windows like hidden treasure lost in the sea of the city below him. “Thanks for your help, Okumura-san- I think I should be able to make it soon,” he added, shifting when a body bumped into him, making him stumble until his back was pressed into the train door.

 

 _“It’s never a problem, and please, you know you can call me Haru,”_ she replied, polite yet still sweet, every word perfectly placed. _“I’ll see you soon- Oh, Mako-chan! Hello!”_

 

With that, the call clicked off, and Akira pressed the phone to his chest for the time being, unable to reach his back pocket. _She seems sweet,_ he noted, before an announcement rattled to life, blearily street-light yellow in the conductor’s exhausted mumble.  “Three more stations, Akira, you can make it,” he whispered to himself, settling his head against the door and shutting his eyes just for a moment.

 

_(“Hello? Where am I? I think I’m dreaming- is this a dream?”_

_“Who are you- can you hear me?”_

_“What’s your name? Mine’s Yu-”)_

 

 _“_ **_Shibuya Central Station, this is Shibuya Central Station. Please watch the doors before stepping out.”_ **

 

Akira’s eyes snapped open seconds before the doors opened, catching himself before he ate cement. Stumbling out, heart pounding, he straightened himself before sucking in a breath and shifting out of the way of some irritated adults. “Teenagers think they can just take over whatever they want,” a nasty woman hissed under her breath, and Akira kissed his teeth. He could imagine Morgana cussing her out, safe from backlash under his meows, and his chest ached as he felt the lack of familiar weight on his shoulder.

 

“Well, let’s get to work, then,” Akira said, hiking the bag higher on his shoulder and following the signs.

 

***

 

The flower shop- after an extensive amount of time Akira was ashamed to admit- was found nestled in the far end of the underground mall, a tiny storefront opening into what looked like a back room where the shadows of other employees reflected onto the frosted glass. Bright displays of flowers spilled from vases and other decorative pots, either placed on tables or strung up in sky-high cradles that danced gracefully in some invisible wind, and Akira couldn’t help but crack a grin. There’d been a stint where he worked at the tiny family-owned flower shop just down the street from his house, and he couldn’t deny that he loved every minute he spent working there.

 

Thinking on it now as he pushed open the door (the small chime above it was champagne-copper in his ears), he remembered the April rain pounding on the roof as his fourteen-year-old self eagerly listened to Takenashi-san explaining which colors worked best in which arrangements, cheering when he recited the flower meanings she’d taught him correctly. He laughed quietly when he remembered Takenashi Aiko, the sweet girl only a year younger than him who not-so-quietly held a torch for him, though he’d been far too oblivious to notice when he was enraptured by the flowers around him and the satisfaction of getting the orders right. (In the end, it was Futaba who told him about it, and he’d been perplexed, confused by her affection- until he realized he’d been doing the same in his own childish nature toward Aiko’s older brother. It’d been an eye-opening adventure in many ways.)

 

 _What are the odds I’d end up back in a shop like this?_ he thought, amused, laughing at his own mind for conjuring this level of memory in a dream so _vivid._

 

“Oh, Yusuke-kun, you made it!” a familiar voice chirped, and he looked to see a girl with a head of fluffy curls come bouncing toward him with a bright smile on her face. “And you only missed one customer at that!”

 

Akira sighed, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. “Still, I shouldn’t have been late at all,” he argued, freezing when he noticed her pause and blink at him, looking him up and down. “What?”

 

Okumura tilted her head, a finger tapping her lips. “You seem different today,” she said, but something on her face told him there was more than that she wanted to say. Akira was wary, not sure of what to say, but she just huffed a laugh and waved at him. “Never mind me, though. Go ahead and get ready, and make sure Hanasaki-san sees you!” He nodded, and she grinned, full and sweet, before she worked her way around the counter looking for something, sing-songing as she searched.

 

Hesitantly, Akira crept toward the back room, walking past a refrigerated wall of previously-completed assortments and shivering as he nudged the swinging door open with his hip. Instantly, he was overwhelmed with the scent of flora and earth, unable to keep down a smile as his memory of that late spring came back to him. He heard a faint conversation somewhere around the corner and the smile faded as he steeled himself, leaning around the corner to loiter nervously by it. “Hello?” he called, and saw two women look over at him, both dressed in a light brown work apron.

 

The older of the two lit up, and she turned to him with a warm smile on her face; the name tag at her lapel read _Hanasaki Akemi_ next to a bright red rose, matching the soft faux flowers weaving through the coffee-colored braids of her hair. “Glad to see you made it here safely despite getting lost,” she said, and Akira smiled lightly.

 

“I’m sorry about that ,” he apologized, but she waved him off.

 

“It’s not as if business is booming here,” she started, when the girl next to her shook her head.

 

“Don’t say that,” she chastised lightly, hand coming up to her shoulder. She was taller than Hanasaki, with short brown hair and an aura that read both certainty as well as respect, each movement of her body calculated and pristine.

 

Hanasaki laughed, bright and rich, voice as warm and green as the earth around her. “You don’t need to comfort me, Niijima-chan,” she said, and Niijima deflated a bit, eyes closing. “It doesn’t bother me, and it makes every customer who does come in here feel a bit more special, don’t you think?”

 

“I suppose you’re right,” Niijima said, defeated, before she lit back up again. “You’re all set up back here, right?”

 

Hanasaki nodded, and Niijima smiled. “Why don’t you and Kitagawa-kun get the displays for the day up? I’ve only got the daisies to cut, so go ahead without me.”

 

“If you insist,” Niijima said brightly, before turning to Akira. “Think you can get ready in the next few minutes?”

 

“Can do,” Akira replied, wincing when he earned a perplexed expression from both of them. “Uh, well-”

 

 _“Yusuke-kun, can you come get this for me? I can’t reach it!”_ Okumura suddenly called, and he was relieved as the violet seeped through the back door.

 

“Give me a second!” he called back, looking back over to them. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes,” he added, thumbing at the line of his pockets.

 

“That’s fine. I’ll be in the greenroom, then, so come find me,” Niijima directed, cool and professional as sharp navy twined with pure white curled around her, before looking back to Hanasaki and heading across the room.

 

Akira looked back at Hanasaki, who had a smile on her face as she shook her head with a muted laugh. “What is it?” he asked, and she looked up at him.

 

“She’s just like her sister, so grown-up and directive,” she said, and Akira couldn’t find anything to say back to that.

 

_(So he’s not entirely alone then- I’m glad._

Akira wasn’t entirely sure why that thought made him as happy as it did.)

 

***

 

_06/16_

_*What I know so far:_

_-Name: Kitagawa Yusuke, 18 (I assume), third year, lives in Tokyo_

_-Tall, attractive_

_-Very neat, but a bit forgetful?_

_-I think he hears colors_

_-Physically abused (by guardian?)_

_-Artist, has sketches of me?? (Art teacher seems nice- Satou-sensei?)_

_-No siblings- adopted? Taken in??_

_-Not good with people?_

~~_-No friends that I’ve met_ ~~

_ > Two coworkers at flower shop, seem to be on good terms with him: Okumura Haru (19?, very short, quiet and kind) and Niijima Makoto (19, a bit bossy, has a sister?, in college (I think), polite but a bit scary) _

_-Doesn’t eat much (who doesn’t bring lunch with them to school??)_

_-Seems to have an issue with money_

 

***

 

The majority of the shift was spent quietly after he was slowly introduced to his coworkers, only a few customers here and there, but Akira was thankful to be left alone cutting ribbons and cellophane, the monotony of the familiar tasks letting him focus on the maelstrom of thoughts swirling in his head.

 

_If this is a dream, why is it so vivid?_

 

 _Snip-_ purple ribbons fell around his fingers.

 

_Why this life, why this person? Is there some meaning I should try and remember?_

 

The slide of crisp white tissue paper between the blades of the scissors.

 

_Why am I in his sketchbook? He isn’t real, is he?_

 

Cellophane crinkling in his hands as he neatly sealed a cone to slide the waiting bouquet into and hand off to Haru once she came back around.

 

_If he is real… do I want to meet him-?_

 

“Listen girlie, I _said_ that I had placed an order ahead of time, so stop lying to me!” a voice barked, jarring Akira out of his thoughts. He blinked, looking over to where Makoto was jotting down something on a notepad, head up and eyebrows creased at the noise.

 

“Sir, I can assure you that we never received this order,” Haru continued, patient yet firm, “however, we are more than happy to get you what you need.”

 

The man clicked his tongue, and Akira could imagine him shifting his weight to stare down at Haru. “Don’t give me that bullshit,” he spat, sharp and ugly, and Akira’s lip flattened into thin line; he set down the scissors he’d been using.

 

“Sir, please calm down- hey, what are you doing? Let _go!”_ Haru suddenly squeaked, and paint streaks of uncomfortable pink speckled through his words.

 

Akira was moving before he could even think, ignoring as Makoto desperately called for him.

 

“Is there a problem here, sir?” Akira asked as he pushed out of the backroom, eyes on the man who was leaning over the counter directly into Haru’s space, one hand clamped around her wrist. Dressed to the nines and red hair slicked back, Akira could smell the _sleazebag_ oozing from him, mentally laughing to himself before shifting his weight.

With one hand on his hip, Akira’s words and face were pleasant, but ice crept through every line of him.

 

The man’s eyes flickered over to him, and he cracked a grin before stepping away from an extremely rattled Haru. “Finally, someone I can trust to be competent,” he sneered, the implication behind his words only making Akira lift his chin; the sharp smile on his face didn’t waver.

 

“I assure you, Okumura-san is _more_ than competent,” he insisted, not missing the twitch on the man’s face. “I digress, however. If there’s nothing _she_ can help you with, then perhaps you should leave.”

 

Akira was delighted as he watched his face go an alarming shade of fuchsia. “Don’t talk back to me, brat, I’m not done here,” he hissed, and Akira crossed his arms.

 

“Yes, you said something about an order?” he evaded, stubbornly professional. “What is it you’re looking for? We have much to choose from.” Haru gave him an incredulous look, eyes wide.

 

“Don’t get cocky with me,” the man said, lips sharp in a snarl.

 

“It wasn’t my intention, sir,” he replied lightly, fingers drumming on the outside of his arm. “If you would prefer to leave, then please, I won’t stop you.” Akira watched as the man digested his words, seeing his threat, weighing the options of the cards he’d just been dealt- _would he fold, or call?_

 

“I’m just lookin’ for something for my wife,” he eventually replied, and the corner of Akira’s mouth ticked up before he returned back to his neutral expression. _Call._

 

“Well then, then you know what she likes, or would you prefer a more basic arrangement?” Akira asked, moving across the room until he was behind the counter beside Haru, face to face with the customer; he was shorter than Akira, a tiny fact that only further amused him.

 

“Uh, it’s just our anniversary today, so something romantic,” he replied, watching Akira warily.

 

Akira’s eyes light up mirthfully. “If you don’t mind my asking, which anniversary are you celebrating?” _He can’t be older than thirty-five or so- maybe a second anniversary, or a third-?_

 

“Fourth, but what does that matter?” the customer snapped, freezing when Akira smiled.

 

_Perfect._

 

“Different anniversaries can be celebrated with different flowers, so creating an arrangement for her shouldn’t be too difficult if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes,” Akira said coolly, hands slipping into his pockets. “If you’re willing to come back, I’m sure we can have something ready for you.” The man met his eye, challenging, waiting, but Akira didn’t budge, tilting his head. “Is something wrong, sir?”

 

He shook his head abruptly. “No, nothing,” he said, startled, before his face hardened. “But if I come back only to find that you’ve been fucking with me, you’ll hear from my lawyer- got it, kid?”

 

“Understood; please come back within the hour,” Akira replied lightly, and the man grunted, before extricating a cellphone and carefully backing out of the shop. As soon as he was gone, Akira sighed, leaning onto the countertop.

 

“What was _that,_ Yusuke-kun?” Haru blurted, shock bright in her eyes. “I’ve _never_ seen you act like that before!”

 

“You tend to avoid customer confrontation,” Makoto said suddenly, pushing open the back door to stare at him, arms crossed and head tilted just enough that her hair spilled onto her shoulder.  

 

Akira shrugged. “He was being rude,” he said plainly, but Makoto looked unconvinced.

 

“Are you really making him an arrangement?” she asked levelly, and Akira grinned.

 

“Why not? I figure he either won’t come back, or I can have a little fun with it if he does,” he replied, hands slipping back into his pockets.

 

Makoto turned her head just slightly, line of her mouth thin and dark eyes narrowed. “What did you have in mind?”

 

Akira smirked. “Where are those geraniums you cut earlier?”

 

***

 

“Traditionally, geraniums are used to celebrate the fourth wedding anniversary- sunflowers are the third, and daisies for the fifth- and since these particular ones are pink, they were paired with these roses, as well as the white carnations, stargazer lilies, and baby’s breath setting everything off,” Akira listed, gesturing to the different flowers in the vase as the customer looked over it, flabbergasted. Haru lingered behind Akira, cautiously watching, and Akira resisted the urge to break character. “I’ve written all of the names of the flowers down here for you, in addition to leaving the front of the card blank just in case you had your own message you wanted to write in,” he continued, pointing to the card he’d carefully placed in the center of the arrangement. The man didn’t reply, and Akira ducked his head to meet his eye. “Is this to your liking, or would you prefer something else?”

 

He jumped, before clearing his throat and smoothing down the front of his jacket. “I’ll take it,” he said smoothly, and Akira smiled widely, all lips and no teeth.

 

“Very well, then,” he said, before gesturing to Haru. “Okumura-san will ring you up once you’re ready.”

 

And with that, Akira left the room without another word, envisioning the look on the man’s face.

 

As he came back in through the green room door, Akira saw as Makoto shook her head with a sigh. “I can’t believe you did that,” she groaned.

 

He leaned back against the table, thumbs hooked in the pockets of the apron. “What? It’s not as if I was lying; geraniums _are_ the flower for fourth anniversaries,” he replied airily, enough that he saw a flicker of a laugh dance over her features.

 

“Not _horseshoe_ geraniums,” she argued, and he shrugged.

 

“Unless she knows her flowers that well, I doubt she’ll catch on,” he said, and she looked him dead in the eye, the backlighting making her eyes seem eerily red.

 

“You _wrote them on the card,”_ she retorted flatly, unamused; he only smiled. She huffed a dry laugh. “Unbelievable- you’re a completely different person today,” she muttered, and the smile dropped from his face.

 

 _“Yusuke-kun,_ you did it!” Haru announced cheerfully, slipping into the back room. “I can’t believe he bought it!”

 

“Literally,” Makoto mumbled, and Haru giggled.

 

“It’s not as if the flowers themselves were ugly,” Akira pointed out, one hand slipping out of his pocket to aimlessly gesture. “After all, who would think such a pretty pink flower meant _stupidity?”_

 

Makoto snorted loudly before biting her lip, earning surprised looks from Haru and Akira respectively. She let out a breath then, dropping her hands on her hips and meeting them both with stern looks. “Don’t pull that again, alright? That could backfire on you one of these days.”

 

“It’s worth it when they’re rude,” Akira drawled, looking up when a light chuckle from the back of the room caught his attention.

 

“My, I’ve never heard you quite so vindictive, Kitagawa-kun,” Hanasaki teased, and Akira found himself tugging at the loose strands of hair over his eye.

 

“Sorry,” he said quietly, apologetic. _I guess I did get a bit carried away._

 

“Well, I can’t say I’m entirely scolding you,” she said, shucking off her gloves and tucking them into her pocket as she gave him a smile.

 

“Oh! Thank you, by the way,” Haru piped up, lightly tapping at his shoulder before her face fell. “I should’ve been able to deal with him without an issue, but he wouldn’t listen to me no matter what I said, and I didn’t know what to do when he just _grabbed me-”_

 

“It’s alright,” Akira said gently, and she bit her lip. “Something tells me he wouldn’t have listened to Niijima-san either.”

 

“Mako-chan would’ve fought back, though,” she argued, and Akira laughed at the sound of shock that slipped from Makoto’s mouth in a spark of white.

 

“I wouldn’t have _fought him,”_ she argued, arms crossing over her chest. All three of them looked at her, silent for a few moments before she relented. “Alright, maybe I would’ve had a _few_ choice things to say,” she said, and the room was suddenly alight in brightly-colored laughter.

 

“Well, it’s getting to the end of your shifts, so why don’t we start packing up?” Hanasaki suggested, and all three of them nodded, ready to go.

 

***

 

On his way out of the store, Hanasaki stopped him, envelope in hand. “All of you did such a great job today, so there’s a bit of a bonus here,” she said, handing it to him.

 

He blinked in surprise before taking it, carefully tucking it into his bag. “Thank you, Hanasaki-san,” he said, and she laughed, a hand on his shoulder.

 

“If anything, I should be thanking _you,”_ she started, looking up at him. “You were like a different person today; confident- it looks good on you.”

 

The words hit Akira like a sucker punch.

 

“Well, I don’t want to hold you- make sure you get home safely, alright? I’ll see you on Wednesday!”

 

Numb, Akira nodded, and the world was fuzzy for just a moment. He vaguely registered himself wishing her a good evening before making his way out of the shop, the smell of flowers shifting into the darker scent of the underground, and he paused, mind reeling.

 

_I’ve never been called confident before._

 

_(Neither has Kitagawa-san, apparently.)_

 

The train ride home was much easier now that it was past rush hour, and Akira fell asleep two stops in as he waited for the end of the line. He thought he dreamed of a familiar voice and someone searching for him, black on white on dark blue eyes.

***

 

_06/16_

_-Did damage control with some asshole today_

_ >Hanasaki-san gave me a bonus _

_-Grabbed something small from the bakery while waiting for the train, slept the whole way back_

_ >Tokyo looks really pretty at night… I wish I could take some decent pictures but the train’s too fast _

 

_\------_

 

That night, when Akira crept back into the condo, he discovered that the lights were off, a trail of mess leading toward a room where the door was cracked open. Peering inside, he saw that the man from earlier was asleep, surrounded by various papers and photos scattered over the bed’s surface. A faint bubble of relief seeped through him as he carefully pulled the door shut, making his way through the kitchen back to the refuge of Yusuke’s bedroom.

 

He stopped when his stomach complained, and loudly at that, and realized that he hadn’t felt fully _hungry_ until that moment despite having only eaten a bowl of soup from the school cafeteria and the melon bread he’d bought at the train station. He chalked it up to just being a dream as he opened the fridge, spotting a pair of apples beside a few containers of Tupperware. Silently snatching one, he shut the door and took a bite, the white-blue light of the fridge leaving spots in his eyes as he blindly made his way across the room, crunching his way through the rest of the apple.

 

Dropping the bag and apple on the desk, he stretched, cringing when his ribs complained before his back cracked satisfyingly, before catching his reflection again in the wall mirror. It was still disconcerting, watching as unfamiliar fingers reached up to tug at his hair, but he dropped his hand with a sigh and scrubbed at his eyes. _If this IS just some bizarre dream, I’ll wake up no worse for wear and forget about it all,_ he thought, starting to move the bag to the floor before seeing the edge of the white envelope from inside, extricating it from where it’d caught in the edges of one of the books.

 

His mind couldn’t shake a deep-set chill when he thought about ghost-like Yusuke drifting unnoticed through school with invisible bruises aching as he pulled the books from the bag and plopped them on the desk, tugging the envelope out of the pages from the sketchbook. His concern only deepened when he set the envelope aside and picked the sketchbook back up, automatically flipping back to sketches of himself and scanning over them. He traced a nail over the lines, sleepily drawing back on what Satou-sensei had said earlier when she asked to see his work: _“I think you should keep looking for him; he certainly has you driven, as a muse should.”_

 

 _A muse, huh?_ he thought as he set the book down, contemplating, before reaching for one of the pencils still strewn on the desk. _Maybe I can help him, then, if this is for real._ He snorted as he scrawled a note in the free space near the drawing of him and Morgana, closing the book before he decided to erase it. “I feel like an idiot,” he mumbled, setting it on top of the other notebooks before hunting for the pajamas he’d been wearing this morning.

 

He tried not to wince as he saw the bruises in the ghastly evening light, pulling the shirt over his head and swaying when a sudden rush of exhaustion hit him, heavy on his shoulders and pulsing in his head. “Just one more day until the weekend,” he heard himself say, only faintly thrown off when the wrong voice still shaped his words, and he collapsed messily onto the bed; he was asleep in minutes, one arm under his head and legs half under the blankets as the muted colors of the city noise slowly started to lull him to sleep.

 

\-----

 

The full realization of both boys didn’t settle in until a few days later, when they woke up both as each other and then as themselves once again, notes of unfamiliar handwriting left on skin and paper, conversations and days passing that neither of them recalled having despite the confusion of their companions.

 

Dreams were known to pass quickly as it was- erasing names and reasoning and reality- but with each switch and each minute spent as the other, it was undeniable what was happening as they met a different face in the mirror in a life that wasn’t their own, slowly cementing into an incredible and utterly earth-shattering understanding-

 

“You have to be kidding me,” Akira blurted, flipping through his notes to find more and more questions and notes written throughout his books, finding neatly-written characters on his cheek as a surefire way that he’d see it that morning- _‘WHO ARE YOU?’_

“Then that means-“

 

“So this is truly for real?” Yusuke said, tracing a line of carefully-penned words down the line of his arm and a fresh wrapping around his bicep he didn’t recall changing, eyes flickering back to the screen of his phone as he read through a day he didn’t experience- _‘Why am I YOU?’_

“It can’t be-“

 

 _“-We’re_ ** _switching_** **_bodies?”_**

 

One realization was a shout, the other a barely-audible catch of breath, but it set the clock ticking as their string of fate pulled taut, leading them both to the next question, tumbling from their hearts, from their mouths is fervent desperation as they looked up into the mirror to speak unknowingly to the other, looking for detail that always evaporated the minute they woke up-

 

 _“Your name- what’s your_ **_name?”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, now that the intro's out of the way, a few things: Yeah, I pulled a P4- Sojiro is Akira's uncle, Futaba is still Sojiro's adoptive daughter, and there are some other minor age changes I shuffled around for the sake of plot, which will be explored in depth later. Other major characters will also make an appearance as well! It's been a while since I've written them all, so I hope I didn't botch any of the characterization too badly...
> 
> Questions and comments are appreciated, though I apologize if I get to them a bit late!  
> Thank you for reading! :D
> 
> Next chapter:  
> Coffee beans, meddling cousins, and phone calls!


	3. Ambedo (I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once the magic starts to settle in, it can be a bit hard to keep it all contained- especially from the prying eyes of family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, an update:   
> This whole fic is essentially done in four huge chapters, though they ended up more as acts because I needed to break them up due to length... so, I'm not quite sure what's gonna be the final chapter count. Whoops?   
> Another note is that all of Ambedo/act 2 is completed, but the final chapter needs to be revised but.... college. I wanted to post all three in one go but that wasn't happening. :( It WILL be up sooner rather than later, however!   
> And a final thing I wanted to mention- I really wanted to emphasize that- though more heavily in Itomori- magical realism is more common and readily accepted, hence the 'oh look a talking cat- oh, he's a spirt? okay that makes sense' kind of reactions... so the body swap freak outs are a bit toned down to emphasize MAGIC OH HELLO 
> 
> Anyway, sorry about those. So, this chapter:   
> Coffeeeeeeeee, Sojiro's first appearance, and Futaba going for Akechi's job as Ace Detective (though it wasn't as if she had to try too hard)

**_Act Two: Ambedo_ **

_ [A kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—briefly soaking in the experience of being alive, an act that is done purely for its own sake.] _

 

They couldn’t control when they switched-

All they knew is that they  _ did,  _ and that for some reason or another,  _ it wasn’t a dream. _

Sometimes it was multiple times a week (even back to back, a few times) or only once, enough that both eventually were forced to adapt to two completely different lives: 

 

Akira, born and raised a country boy with the mountains and its forests in his veins, was suddenly plunged into a world of noise and poise, watching his every word as he wound his way through the endless pulsing heartbeat that was Tokyo and its immense stream of people. He was in over his head, the cold-water shock of being so  _ alone  _ as he was displayed and exploited by the guardian he knew Yusuke had been raised by, unable to raise neither hand nor word against him-  _ Madarame,  _ the world-renowned artist that made Akira’s skin crawl despite never having anything other than mild-mannered words thrown his way. 

 

He was blind in a world that saw everything; every move, every heartbeat, every breath- every  _ word was  _ scrutinized. 

(With every switch, he felt the undeniable urge to take Yusuke away from that horrid place, help him find inspiration that wasn’t so  _ gray.)  _

 

Yusuke, raised on the graceful and the beautiful, found himself in a world that was unrestricted and  _ wild  _ as the connections between each resident of Itomori hummed in a web of lifelines powered by the awe-inspiring power of the earth around them, dizzy as he counted the endless lines of fox gates and tangled the unfinished strands of braided cords around his fingers. He was submerged in a warmth and familiarity he’s never known, where gentle and casual affection- food shoved not-so-surreptitiously into bags, hands on backs, arms or legs slung over him- was common and valued, and summer ate away the iron imbued in his spine as he felt he was allowed to finally relax and  _ live.  _

 

He was lost in a world that was his greatest guilty pleasure, a daydream of a life and a family he never wanted to leave, dreading the icy numbness that would surely permeate him and his bruised ribs the second he woke back up. 

(With every switch, he wished he could travel to that strange town whose name escaped him once he woke up, only remembering faces and colors and the loveliness they gave him.) 

 

They were stuck in the limbo of each other, carefully balanced between two heavy lives on such fragile shoulders and fragile hearts, but fate was not quite so cruel to shatter them. 

 

Eventually, they settled into a mishmash of a system: 

Write down a recollection of what happened that day with any questions or other comments for the other, trying to make sure they didn’t end up putting them into a more awkward situation then they were in. Rules were inevitably made as well, mistakes and other things seeping through that shouldn’t have- 

 

_ Yusuke- (can I call you that? You can call me Akira if you’d like, since we’ve kinda skipped twelve steps) _

_ *Please, for the love of god, you CAN’T just ask someone to be your model by chasing them down in the middle of town; I think Ann was ready to kick your ass for that, from what Mona said. (On another note-  _ **_I_ ** _ can’t draw! That’s too obvious!)  _

_ *If someone gives you food, please eat it- I know for a fact that you don’t eat as it is, but it’s really  _ **_not_ ** _ a burden on them!  _

_ *For your own safety- don’t try bothering with anything in Futaba’s room, or she’ll murder me- you- us- you get the point.  _

_ *Don’t call Mona a cat- he bites when you do that. (Inner elbow, left arm, 12 years old, if you don’t believe me) Make sure he comes with you to school, too. _

_ *Glasses! Wear them!!  _

_ *I hate to say this, but you’re too polite- only -san for the adults!  _

 

**_Akira-san-_ **

**_*Don’t talk back to Sensei- please just do as he says. In that same vein, why do some of my classmates seem afraid of me- did you do something?_ **

**_*Please try and learn the train station map- you waste my money whenever you get lost._ **

**_*Your dialect is, unfortunately, telling- please watch how you speak, if you must._ **

**_*Again, I feel the need to comment on your punctiliousness- while I admire your chivalry, I’m getting unwarranted attention- I’ve had three girls confess to me, and they always seem upset when I tell them I’m not interested in them as members of the opposite sex._ **

**_*Please don’t spend my money on unnecessary food- I get along perfectly fine as it is._ **

 

_ Yusuke-  _

_ *Is it really wasting money when I’m making sure you eat properly?  _

_ *On another note- you can’t really just tell girls that- that’s WAY too blunt!! _

_ *Is my ‘dialect’ really that telling?  _

_ (I said you can drop the honorific- really, just Akira is perfectly fine.)  _

 

**_Akira-_ **

**_*Please don’t backtalk my classmates- they spread enough rumours as it is._ **

**_*You don’t need to keep changing my dressings- I can do that myself._ **

**_*Please remember what I said about work- you need to make it on time! Niijima-san keeps admonishing me for your tardiness!_ **

**_*As for the answer to the note you left stuck in my locker last time, I have a key ring in my desk drawer for that- lock picking is certainly a peculiar talent, I must say, but a fascinating one at that._ **

**_(If you’re comfortable with such, I will do my best to remember.)_ **

  
  


Thankfully, for the both of them, there was something about the other that perfectly slotted into themselves, a second piece they hadn’t realized was missing, a harmony to an otherwise lonely melody, and it wasn’t long before they settled almost comfortably in each other’s lives- 

 

Well, as seamlessly as they could try.

(Mistakes were still made, of course.) 

 

\----

 

When Yusuke woke up not to the sound of an alarm but to the shriek of heavy, purple rain through an open window, he was equal parts elated as he was exhausted. Without disturbing the sleeping Morgana by his side, he reached for Akira’s phone with a faint groan, sitting up to squint at the screen as he shoved his hair out of his face; the phone screen read  _ 6:34 am.  _ “Why am I awake so early?” he mumbled to himself, pressing a hand to his face as he rested his chin on a drawn-up knee.  _ It’s a Sunday, apparently, so I should just be able to fall back asleep… I don’t think Sakura-san would mind,  _ he thought blearily, finding himself falling back blissfully asleep before- 

 

_ “WAKE UP!”  _ came a lime-green explosion, making Yusuke’s eyes snap open as a muted shriek left his lips in time to a yowl as the hand on his face slapped down the futon where Morgana just so happened to be curled up. 

 

“What?  _ What?”  _ Yusuke blurted, the words tumbling from his lips in grays that blurred together with the rain from outside. “What do you  _ want?”  _

 

Futaba snickered, slinking into the room to plop down in front of him. She poked him in the cheek and Yusuke grunted, swatting away her hand. “It’s one of  _ those  _ days, so Sojiro asked me to come get you- you know what that means!”

 

_ “Do _ enlighten me,” Yusuke replied dryly, rubbing at his eyes. While he was thankful she hadn’t flipped on the light, his eyes still burned from the sudden (and rather rude) awakening. 

 

Weight suddenly settled on his knees before another thin finger poked at his cheek, and when he cracked open an eye he had to resist the urge to jump. “Maybe I should’ve waited for a few minutes until your brain finished booting up,” she teased, arms folded on top of his knees as she rested her chin on top of them. This close, her eyes blinked owlishly up at him, almost mauve in this light, and he thought they did  _ indeed  _ remind him of an owl- “I’m not an owl, you weirdo,  _ sheesh,” _ she scolded, flicking him, and Yusuke winced. 

 

“Apologies,” he muttered, voice still rough but not unpleasantly so. 

 

“Is that for me too, considering you so rudely  _ squashed me?”  _ came a biting complaint, and Yusuke looked down to see Morgana’s bright eyes standing out eerily from where his dark fur blended into the shadows of the futon. 

 

“I suppose,” he said, reaching out to rub between Morgana’s ears. 

 

Morgana harrumphed, shutting his eyes. “I’ll consider accepting your apology,” he said thinly, but Yusuke only smiled as he felt satisfied purrs rumble through him as Yusuke kept petting him. 

 

Yusuke winced when Futaba suddenly swatted at him, an excited grin bright on her face as he looked back over to her. “Come on, get ready- we can’t waste any time!” she pressed, Yusuke missing whatever she was so excited about. 

 

“For what?” he asked, eyebrows knitting, squinting at her orange-lined snort. 

 

“Like you don’t know,” she teased, standing up and stretching loudly before she dropped her arms down heavily and stared down at him. “It’s  _ bean day!”  _

 

“Damn, that’s right,” Morgana cut in, stretching his legs,  “so that means you’re leaving me behind again, aren’t you?” There was a simper of complaint to his tone, one of sharply-pressed black keys flat in Yusuke’s ear. 

 

Futaba giggled and bopped Morgana on the head, ignoring him as he swiped at her. “The car’s small, and besides, you  _ know _ how they feel about cats,” she said, and he huffed. 

 

“Well then,  _ I  _ get to sleep in- unlike  _ you two- _ so enjoy your trip and wake me once you’re back,” Morgana instructed, curling back into a small ball. 

 

_ Trip? Are we going somewhere?  _

 

“Let’s  _ go, let's go _ _,_ come on!” Futaba said, turning her attention back on Yusuke and yanking theatrically on Yusuke’s arm, “you  _ know  _ we can’t be late, so chop chop!” 

 

Yusuke only blinked up at her, equal parts curious as he was afraid to ask just what exactly  _ bean day  _ was. 

 

\---- 

 

_ Bean day,  _ as he would come to learn, involved packing into an old, worn car and driving through fields upon fields as they chased the rising sun, carmine and amber spilling over the edge of the road that fell away into rocky mountain edges, the faint blue-gray hum of the car tinging the scene in a depth of reality that had Yusuke gawking out of the window like a five-year-old. 

 

With such a sense of openness in the nature around him, Yusuke felt out of his depth in the best way possible, fingers itching for a pencil to capture whatever this  _ feeling  _ was that buzzed under his skin as he watched the green of grasses and trees blend into the grays of the stones and the road. It was all so perfectly framed by an impossibly large sky slowly being swallowed by the storm they’d woken up in, the rain chasing them like a laughing, teasing creature as it carried its smell of earth and revitalization with it. 

 

“God knows you like taking pictures,” Futaba suddenly spoke up, and he was violently thrown out of his head, “so go take some before you combust.” 

 

_ So those photos on his desk must be his, then,  _ Yusuke realized, chest warming with stubborn affection as he thought back to the pictures of Akira’s world through a separate lens and of the people he called dear magnified and captured in time, unable to fade so long as their smiles still remained trapped in ink. 

 

Photography was the one artistry Yusuke couldn’t ever grasp, too perplexed by the manipulation of what he saw right in front of him as well as his medium being some ticking and mechanical creature that wasn’t ever as steady as his own hands.  _ However, for Akira’s sake, I suppose I should try…. Maybe something of use can come out of this, and he’ll enjoy a few of them?  _

 

(Out of the myriad of clumsy photos he took, only about three of them were significantly  _ not  _ blurry, for which Futaba teased him mercilessly for; he saved them all anyway, uselessly hoping he could somehow send them back to his own phone.) 

 

The entirety of the ride lasted about two hours, but between the constant shift of the music filling the interior with color that mingled with their own voices and the scenery around them, Yusuke barely realized the time as he lay his head on his crossed arms to watch the world whip by them through the now-open windows. Silver, summer-stained wind whistled past him as it tore through his hair and made his eyes sting, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care as he took in the scent of fresh earth and something unique to air around him, giddy beyond anything he could even describe. 

 

“Well,  _ someone _ seems in a better mood about getting up at the ass-crack of dawn than usual,” Futaba teased, and Yusuke could only hum in reply, drowsy with daydream as he shifted his head on his arms. 

 

“Futaba,” Sojiro chided, but it was half-hearted and light, a twist of rich coffee and maroon in Yusuke’s ears. 

 

“It’s a lovely view,” Yusuke replied earnestly, eye catching on the mirrored glint of a vast lake winking up at him from the valley far below the road they were on. 

 

“It’s the same every time!” Futaba complained, slumping down in her seat and throwing her legs over Yusuke’s lap; he had to resist the urge to jump at the sudden contact. 

 

“The sunrise is different every morning, though,” Sojiro said, catching their eye in the rearview mirror, a smile bright in his voice. “And besides, it’s not as if you can pretend you don’t enjoy this trip- it’s the only place you’ll go outside of the grocery store!” 

 

“That’s because I’m  _ used  _ to the warehouse, and we’re barely in Itomori where people  _ recognize me!” _ she fired back, and Sojiro shook his head. 

 

It was true that Yusuke had noticed how little she left the house, only sometimes walking with him to the bottom of the hill to meet the others before immediately fleeing back, and- despite the faint teasing in Sojiro’s tone- Yusuke could sense the worry in the conversation, a long-running elephant in the room he wasn’t privy to. 

 

_ Perhaps she just doesn’t like crowds? I can empathize with her on that level, but maybe it’s something just a tad deeper,  _ he mused, curious, looking back toward the now-brightened sky warm with blue as the storm still chased them.  _ I shouldn’t pry- it’s not my place as it is.  _

 

(He didn’t notice Futaba watching him from the corner of her eye, silently cataloguing.) 

 

“Well, we’re finally here, so you can go stretch your legs,” Sojiro called as they turned off the main trail to a large building perched on the hillside, piquing Yusuke’s interest.  _ “Or _ I can just leave you guys in the car if you’re so insistent on staying in one place.” 

 

_ “Sojiro!”  _ Futaba whined, tugging on the door, which stayed locked as he kept pressing the button in time to her yanking. Yusuke chuckled to himself. “How dare you keep me captured like this!  _ Release me!”  _

 

“You do realize the window is still open, yes?” Yusuke suggested, and Futaba’s arms went slack as she whipped around toward him. 

 

“That’s the best damn idea you’ve had all day,” she whispered, and Yusuke huffed a laugh. 

 

“It’s technically still morning,” he pointed out, but she ignored him with the intent of planting her hands on the edge of the door and attempting to squirm out of the window. 

 

“Wha-  _ hey,  _ Futaba,  _ don’t,  _ I’ll open the door, Jesus!” Sojiro blurted as she wiggled her way through most of it, the combination of her endeavor and Sojiro’s outburst making Yusuke burst out laughing. “Akira, why did you have to go and provoke her like that?” 

 

“It wasn’t my intention,” Yusuke replied truthfully, but he couldn’t help the smile that worked its way into his voice as well as on his face, shifting the old glasses seated crookedly on his nose. (He wasn’t ever sure he’d be used to wearing them, disturbed by the feeling of having plastic constantly in his line of vision and against his skin.) 

 

“Damn kids,” Sojiro muttered as Futaba managed to work herself free, collapsing to the ground with a sap-green yelp as she disappeared from Yusuke’s line of sight for a second before popping up to prop her fists on her hips like a superhero.

 

“Victory!” 

 

“Are you alright?” Yusuke asked, and she laughed mirthfully, a cross between a villain of some sort and her own self. 

 

“Of course I, the mighty  _ Sakura Futaba,  _ wouldn’t be stopped by a mere  _ window frame!”  _ she crowed, and Sojiro sighed. 

 

“Well now, I only know of  _ one _ family of regulars who brings that level of noise with them,” a voice from outside called, sea-foam green and bubbly as it reached them. Yusuke peeked out of the window to see an older woman standing in front of the car with her arms crossed over an bright blue apron, hair pulled back but still coiling in silver curls. 

 

“Oh, sorry, Mrs. Lupin,” Futaba said sheepishly as Sojiro and Yusuke got out of the car, the click of the doors closing pale goldenrod in at the back of his mind. 

 

“No worries, dear,” the woman insisted, waving her off, “after all, how would I know to send Albert to get your shipment prepared?” 

 

_ A soft accent over round ‘a’ and a rolled ‘r’; no hard ‘t’,  _ Yusuke noticed quietly, registering the familiar roll of the smooth syllables in her words, his suspicion only further confirmed when he saw the handmade sign boasting the name of what he now realized was a storage facility of some sort- ‘ **_Plus Foncé Que le Noir.’_ **

_ Darker Than Black. _

 

“You promised to impress me during our last trip, Meredith,” Sojiro said, the faint hint of his suave nature emphasizing the notes of maroon underneath his words, its effect evident to the woman in turn as she laughed richly.

 

“And when have I have ever gone back on a promise of mine, Mr. Sakura?” she retorted, and he huffed a laugh, tipping an imaginary hat. He ignored Futaba’s reply of  _ ‘Ew, Sojiro, don’t be weird,’  _ that had Yusuke stifling laughter of his own. 

 

“Touché,  _ Madame,” _ Sojiro replied, before returning back to his cordial formality. “Shall we begin?” 

 

“Of course,” Meredith said warmly, before turning to call behind her, rattling off a question in French when a reply echoed back to her. “It’s good to see you all again,” she said, before her eyes landed on Yusuke. “You’ve been quieter than usual today,  _ cher-  _ still waking up?” 

 

Yusuke blinked, momentarily forgetting that he was also a part of the scene he had enjoyed watching in front of him. “I suppose,” he said, fingers running over each other as he tried to quell the nerves of the sudden attention. 

 

She grinned, and he admired how neon it was. “Well, don’t worry, we know a good cup of my best coffee will get you up in no time,” she said, before Sojiro scoffed. 

 

“Are you insinuating  _ my  _ coffee’s no good?” he asked, eyebrow raised over his glasses; Futaba rolled her eyes. 

 

“Of course not, since you’re using  _ my  _ beans,” Meredith replied loftily, smiling widely at the noise of faux insult Sojiro made before waving them inside. “Come, let’s get you guys all set up.” 

 

\------ 

_ Ah, I get it now: bean day- coffee beans,  _ Yusuke belatedly realized as they walked into the building, the strong aroma of earth and  _ coffee  _ rolling over him so intensely that he nearly stopped walking (or  _ actually  _ stopped walking, considering the bark of a  _ hey!  _ from Futaba and the feeling of her bumping into his back), but he didn’t find it unpleasant in the slightest. 

 

If anything, it was a well-needed change from the smell of dust and city he was used to. 

_ (Is this why the house and Akira seem to smell persistently of coffee all the time?)  _

 

The front of the room was a small bakery of sorts, boasting a few tiny tables with pictures winking from hand-painted frames lining the room and dangling from polaroid-lined string lights over the windows, kitschy and warm, with a chalkboard painstakingly decorated in flowing, extravagant calligraphy depicting that day’s menu and speciality coffee; printed under the the large English letters was smaller and very tidy Japanese lettering. In addition to the pervasive smell of coffee, fresh bread and the indescribable symphony of scents that came with a kitchen of any sort curled around Yusuke, welcoming and terribly inviting. 

 

He liked it  _ immensely.  _

 

“Gee, guess the smell of coffee finally woke you up, huh?” Futaba drawled dryly, and Yusuke looked back down to where she was eyeing him with a crooked, knowing grin on her face. He was intrigued by how her shades of neon- her bright red hair was frizzy with summer humidity but electric against the black of her tank top, crimson shorts and striped thigh-highs bright and uniquely  _ her-  _ were framed by the warm neutrals of the shop, the subtle peach of the walls making her eyes stand out, and while normally not one for such bright colors, he felt inspired by her mismatched colors. 

 

“He _ -llo?  _ Earth to Akira, you still there?” And to top it all off, a lime green touch as she reached up to tap at his cheek. 

 

It was then that he felt intense jealousy grip him, envious of this girl and the relationship she had with someone she easily called a brother, and suddenly the green dulled into something bitter. (He was ashamed then at such a visceral emotion, and hoped it didn’t show.) 

 

“Akira?” 

 

“Hm?” Yusuke’s hands were back at his elbows, a nail scraping at the cuticle of his thumb as he forced his face to remain neutral. 

 

Futaba knit her eyebrows at him, giving him an odd expression before blowing out a breath. “Okay, weirdo, let’s go track them down before Sojiro tries  _ flirting  _ with her again,” she said, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward a small door behind the counter. 

 

Startled at the sudden touch, a confused sound caught in Yusuke’s throat but he let himself be dragged nonetheless, silently gawking at as the small hallway gave way to a back room far larger than it appeared filled with containers upon containers of what he assumed to be coffee beans.  _ Where on earth do they even get all of these? I assume out of the country, but even so, this is astounding,  _ he thought absently before he was shoved violently around a corner with a yelp. 

 

“Found ‘em!” Futaba cheered, and Yusuke clumsily caught himself before he crashed into Sojiro. 

 

“Sometimes you have to wonder who’s the eldest in this relationship,” Meredith chuckled as Yusuke whipped around and scowled at Futaba, who laced her hands behind her back and smiled cherubically. 

 

“I don’t think it’s much of a mystery,” Sojiro commented, rolling his eyes as Futaba stuck her tongue out at Yusuke, making him turn his nose up. “Alright you two, that’s enough; if you don’t behave, neither of you get any sweets  _ and  _ you have to carry all of the crates  _ without my help!”  _

 

“Aw, no fair!” Futaba whined, and Yusuke side-eyed her, faintly alarmed by her willingness to talk back. 

 

Sojiro shifted, crossing his arms and dramatically looking her in the eye.  _ “Watch me,”  _ he challenged, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, and Futaba gasped, throwing her fists down by her sides like a child throwing a tantrum. 

 

“Sojiro, you  _ wouldn’t!”  _

 

“What did I  _ just  _ say?” 

 

“You-  _ rude!”  _ (Yusuke nearly flinched when she reached out to smack at Sojiro, berating him with a series of half-hearted punches.) 

 

“How about we get your shipment out to your car first and  _ then  _ sweets?” Meredith cut in, and Futaba froze, heading whipping around with an almost devilish look in her eyes. 

 

She grinned darkly, before stepping back from Sojiro and catching Yusuke’s eye for a millisecond.  _ “Last one to the back room chooses second!”  _ she suddenly yelled, sprinting away from them at full speed that had Yusuke mentally reeling until he realized the taunt was aimed at him, and he hastily made his way after her, apologizing as he pushed past Sojiro and Meredith. 

 

Predictably, Yusuke lost, becoming perpetually turned around in a building he’d never been in before, and ended up jumped by Futaba in the literal sense, with her dropping down from where she’d climbed the shelves to hook her arms around his neck and lock her legs around his chest.

 

“Those two never change, do they?” Meredith asked over the ruckus, and Sojiro laughed quietly. 

 

“No, and I hope they never do,” he replied earnestly, even when the sound of someone choking on top of victorious shrieks rattled throughout the room. 

 

***

 

Half-and-hour later the car was neatly packed, dizzying Yusuke with labels he’d never seen; countries and cities, acronyms that escaped him, and more. With Madarame being more comfortable with tea as his drink of choice, Yusuke was far more accustomed to those kinds of labels and preparation, and while he knew enough to know what styles he did and didn’t like in regards to coffee orders, titles like  _ Arabica  _ and  _ Robusta  _ on top of labels such as  _ Strictly High Grown  _ and  _ Strictly High Bean  _ escaped him. 

 

Not for lack of curiosity, however, as he was scolded multiple times for getting distracted instead of moving the boxes, Yusuke did his best to do as told while also taking in the atmosphere and routine of a place he was surely never to see again, detailing everything in his memory as best as he futilely could despite knowing he’d most likely forget most of it the moment he woke back up in his own body. 

 

Hands on his cheeks startled him out of his head, surprisingly cold despite the latent heat of the day, and he looked down to see a impishly-grinning Futaba staring up at him. “You’ve been staring off into to space so badly that you didn’t even notice me at  _ all,”  _ she crowed, and he grunted, swatting her lightly. 

 

“I was just thinking,” he replied, before scrunching his nose as she pressed her hands further into his cheeks. “Why  _ are  _ your hands so cold? It’s rather warm out as it is.” 

 

She scoffed, retracting her hands to scowl at him. “You’re no fun, not jumping despite being lost in that void of a head,” she said, clicking her tongue. “Mrs. Lupin gave us sodas!” 

 

_ Ah, that explains the cold hands.  _

 

“What kind?” he asked, curious, yet also trying to appease her. 

 

Her face lit up. “Why, only the  _ best _ two flavors, which you don’t get to have because you’re being  _ weird!”  _

 

Yusuke blew out a sharp sigh. 

 

_ “Oi, come get your soda and your sweets before  _ **_I_ ** _ eat everything!”  _ Sojiro bellowed, and both of them looked at each other, a challenge on their faces. 

 

(There were two things that got Yusuke fired up- a rush of artistic inspiration, and anything regarding  _ free food.)  _

 

Futaba took off bolting before Yusuke could catch a breath, and something small and simply childish beckoned for Yusuke, telling him to chase after her because this was the one chance he got in his life to be  _ young,  _ and he greedily obliged. 

 

Their trip ended with them both crammed into the back of the tiny car breathless and wheezing, Futaba trying to take Yusuke’s share of the sweets (he’d taken the melon soda after Futaba nearly clawed him for the strawberry, and he balanced a chocolate croissant on top of it) by jamming her foot into the side of his leg to make him cede. Sojiro had peeked into the window with a sigh, telling them not to kill each other before leaving to finish presumably paying. 

 

The ride back was warmer than the first now that the sun had fully risen, and as they closed in toward the main city the rain greeted them in gentle, silver-lavender wisps of drops rattling off the roof. Futaba was asleep by then, head on Yusuke’s shoulder, and he was looking out the window trying to perfectly remember every detail, feeling, sound, and color enveloping him. 

 

He wasn’t ever sure that he’d be able to shake the feeling that he was  _ stealing _ from Akira, taking warmth and memory that wasn’t meant to be his, but he couldn’t help but indulge just for a moment in whatever this wonderful feeling was. 

 

***

 

**_07/01_ **

_ Futaba woke Morgana and I up early this morning to drive out to a coffee warehouse of some sort. (She called it ‘bean day’, and while I appreciate the pun, I must comment on your choice of nickname…) The ride over was relaxing and beautiful, like something taken out of a movie, and I wish I could paint the sunrise as it chased us over the mountains and dipped into the lake, but it seems I had to settle for taking photos instead per Futaba’s suggestion. I apologize for their lack of quality- I do far better with pencils and paints than technology- but I don’t think they came out too poorly. If what Futaba told me was true, however, then they certainly don’t hold a candle to your own. _

 

_ The shopkeepers themselves were also very kind, and I commend their sense of decoration- it was all so peaceful and warm yet still simple; I’m truly envious I don’t get to visit this place again. It’s been so long since I’ve heard French as Madarame once had a pupil from Lyon who studied under him and he taught me a few things here and there, but that’s merely an old sepia memory from days where I barely reached Madarame’s shoulder. On another note- I truly don’t know much about the inner workings of coffee, so I admire you and the others for your knowledge!   _

 

_ It rained again today as we drove back in, and I finally saw what happens when Futaba is quiet- granted, she was sleeping, but it was odd nonetheless. I envy your relationship with her; I’ve always wanted siblings, to have someone my own age in that house with me, learning with me, understanding. I suppose I’m getting what I wished for, in some backwards, cruel way, but don’t let me ramble on too long now.  _

_ Here are some of the photos I took today- I hope they are to your satisfaction.  _

 

_ [Four photos were attached at the end. Three of the them were of the landscape as they passed- one of the sunrise dipping over the cracks and the divots of the road as viewed from the backseat of the car looking through the windshield, one was a slightly-blurry shot of the glittering lake far below them, and one was of the massive storm as they drove back toward the purple-gray heaviness of the storm above them, while the last one was the bottom half of Yusuke’s face where a small smile could be seen as Futaba slept soundly on his shoulder, peaceful and quiet.]  _

 

****

 

The rest of their day was spent in the backrooms of the Sakura-owned coffee shop, a small but cozy place perched between the trees of the mountain that had Yusuke in awe the first time he’d walked in:  _ Café Leblanc.  _ It was the only such establishment in all of Itomori, but even so, it wasn’t often that it was extraordinarily crowded despite its coffee and signature curry being some of the best Yusuke’s ever tasted. 

 

(If he were able to easily visit, he knew he’d most likely be one of the regulars he’d slowly learned to assist- with Akira’s long-distance help, of course.) 

 

It was a small place, but well-loved nonetheless: of the two floors, the second was more a viewing area for the nature around them, housing three small tables on an open veranda that looked over the cascading side of the mountain, while the first floor was the home of small booths and a long bar where Sojiro was often found humming to himself as he prepared an order to the sound of soft jazz behind him. Coffee and curry were its staples, as Sojiro was proud to remind anyone there, but sometimes there were displays of freshly baked goods from the bakery down the road  _ (‘The Yamaguchis sometimes give us their extra orders on slower days- they’re kind, and they’ll try to force-feed you!’)  _ or ramen and beef bowls on days where winter nipped at the bones  _ (‘While not as iconic as his curry, Sojiro also makes some pretty amazing tonkatsu ramen-’),  _ and Yusuke was bewildered by how much Leblanc was the center of Akira’s life, though he supposed it made sense. 

 

While he appreciated it for its calm beauty in reds and blacks and muted beiges,  _ working  _ there was an entirely different ordeal that Yusuke wasn’t sure he’d ever get his head wrapped around. 

(Akira tried his best to correct him, but there was only so much he could do  _ after  _ Yusuke’s mistakes, and Yusuke always apologized profusely.) 

 

For example- 

Coffee storage. 

(Coffee  _ making  _ was an entirely different ordeal, but he could learn quickly given time.) 

 

“Oi, are you half-asleep or something?” Morgana scolded from where he was perched on one of the crates beside Yusuke and Futaba, head cocked and bright eyes squinted. “It’s like you forgot how to do something you’ve been helping with since you were  _ ten.”  _

 

“Um,” Yusuke replied, the word small and delicate, and Morgana shook his head. 

 

“Yeah, you’ve been a bit out of it,” Futaba agreed, setting her marker on top of the container she’d just finished sealing to cross her arms, peering at him. “Kinda spacey, like you were a few weeks ago the day you came home sick.” 

 

Yusuke sighed, flexing his fingers before absently brushing a few wild strands of hair out of his face; he winced when some of them snagged in the hinge of his glasses, pulling sharply at his scalp. “I’m sorry,” he tried, mind whirling as he tried to think his way out of the situation. Futaba watched him warily, something telling on her face that Yusuke wasn’t entirely sure of. She pursed her lips and tilted her head, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Is something the matter?” he asked slowly, the pulled-taffy nature of his question drawing the faintest blush of crimson to the gray of his words. 

 

She popped her lips them, bright neon in the dark of the room, and he winced.  _ “I _ think I know what’s wrong,” she said suddenly, her words taking on a more serious tone than he was used to hearing in her voice- something in his stomach squirmed. 

 

_ Oh no. I didn’t do something wrong, did I?   _

 

“Oh? Pray tell,” Morgana drawled, dropping down from above to pad over to her, pawing at her thigh until she moved the dark box from her lap to allow him to settle on top of her legs. A voice in the background registered faintly at the back of his mind, coffee-maroon, but Yusuke didn’t pay it any mind as he toyed with the edge of the box in his own lap, catching the sight of the letters  _ SHG  _ winking up at him. 

 

“I’ve noticed it a few days here and there,” she started, and Yusuke froze, watching as her neon-green nails tapped relentlessly to some silent beat on her arms. “You’ve seen it too, right, Mona?” 

 

“Hm, now that you mention it,” Morgana hummed, and Yusuke opened his mouth in a poor attempt to defend himself before Futaba fixed him with a look. 

 

“Aren’t you going to answer Sojiro? He’s been calling you for a while now,” she said, and Yusuke mentally reeled as he finally focused on the voice in the background- 

 

_ “Akira, did you hear me? I asked for your help!”  _ Sojiro boomed, and Yusuke scrambled to his feet with a warm blush of shame on his neck and a barked  _ “Yes, sir!”  _ ringing loudly in his ears. 

 

Wheeling around the corner, he nearly ran headfirst into Sojiro, apologizing in seven shades of gray before Sojiro dropped a hand on his shoulder. “You okay, kid? You’ve been a wild ball of nerves these last few days,” he asked, bewildering Yusuke into silence. “Something happen recently?” 

 

_ Yes- I’ve been transplanted into a brand-new life I don’t know how to adjust to and I have to keep it all a secret because it sounds like one big plot of some horrible drama and half the time I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or not-  _

 

“Woah, I can  _ see  _ your thoughts going a mile minute, jeez,” Sojiro interrupted, and Yusuke cringed. “Maybe you guys should take a break; I guess anyone would be stressed when you’ve got finals this week,” he added, and Yusuke mentally swore.  _ I sincerely hope I don’t switch then, because it won’t be fair to Akira if I fail his exams when he already helped me pass mine. _

 

“I suppose so,” Yusuke agreed half-heartedly, and Sojiro’s hand on his shoulder lifted to run through his own hair.

 

“Alright then, let’s all take a coffee break,” Sojiro decided, and Yusuke inwardly relaxed, thankful for a distraction. 

 

_ I’m just making a mess of things, aren’t I?  _

_ I’m sorry, Akira.  _

 

They day continued like that, with intermittent breaks scented with coffee and the summer breeze through the open doors, soothing Yusuke’s whirling mind as he stared down at himself in the shimmering surface of the coffee, unsettled by a face that wasn’t his own looking back. 

 

(With Futaba having returned to her regular reckless self, Yusuke didn’t pay her much mind, not noticing as she kept an eye on him with Morgana in tow as she coached and scolded Yusuke for messing up box upon box of stored coffee beans.)

 

\----- 

 

With that morning being rather pleasant, Yusuke’s mind was so tied in knots by the evening that not even a plate of fresh curry could soothe him, leaving him with sore cuticles and a severely decimated attention span. He sat at Akira’s desk, absently staring at the plethora of photos staring just as fervently back, fingers skipping from the seam of his pants to the half-scrawled doodles on the scrap paper in front of him: faces and places, Sojiro at the bar, the Lupin’s shop, Futaba and Morgana, Akira, Akira,  _ Akira-  _

 

“Hey, you’ve been kinda zoning for the last fifteen minutes,” Morgana suddenly interrupted, and Yusuke flinched violently enough to drop his pencil. Morgana snorted then, giving him the feline equivalent of a raised eyebrow from where he was perched on the open windowsill. “What, did I scare you  _ that  _ badly?” 

 

“Yes,” Yusuke said dumbly, and Morgana rolled his eyes. 

 

“It’s getting late, and you’ve been out of it ever since you guys got home- we should get some sleep,” he said, hopping down onto the surface of Akira’s desk, pausing with a frown when he noticed the half-finished doodles. “What’s that-?” 

 

“Nothing,” Yusuke interrupted coolly, flipping the paper over to push back from the desk, humming satisfactorily when his back cracked as he stretched. Now, he felt the tell-tale exhaustion of a day spent as Akira washing over him, gently reminding him that he’d be switching back soon, and he yawned suddenly, surprising himself. 

 

“Finally realize that you’re tired?” Morgana said sarcastically, and Yusuke huffed, thumbing at Akira’s phone to see  _ 12:54 am  _ blinking up at him. 

 

“Ah, I didn’t realize it had gotten that late,” Yusuke admitted apologetically, and Morgana deftly hopped from the desk up to Yusuke’s shoulder, reaching out to bop his cheek. 

 

“Idiot,” he chastised, and Yusuke clicked his tongue, crossing his arms as he looked over to the smugly-grinning cat beside him. 

 

“There’s no need to be rude,” he retorted, before laughing faintly to himself. “Here I am, getting scolded by a  _ cat  _ of all things!” he added, only to yelp when he felt something sharp nip at his ear.  _ “Ow!”  _

 

“I’m  _ not  _ a cat, dammit! I was a human- a  _ human!”  _ Morgana complained, and Yusuke scowled at him as he rubbed at his ear. “While I may be in a much…  _ smaller _ form now, it’s simply because I’d scare you if you saw my  _ true _ spirit form!” 

 

“I’m sure,” Yusuke said dryly, carefully making his way toward the futon and dropping down in the middle of it, sliding off the bothersome glasses and reaching for the loose covers. 

 

“I have such  _ mighty  _ wings that they wouldn’t even fit in this room! And claws as sharp as  _ razors!  _ You just can’t comprehend my true magnificence with your measly living human eyes!” Morgana continued as dismounted from Yusuke’s shoulder to glare up at him from his side, paws pressed on his thigh as watched him shuffle the blankets over his lap. 

 

“Good night, Morgana,” Yusuke replied, a faint red laugh tinging his words as he slid down to lie on his side, pulling the thin blanket over his shoulder. 

 

Morgana scoffed at him before curling into himself, one eye cracked open to watch him. “I hope you feel better tomorrow morning,” he said quietly, and earnestly at that, and Yusuke felt his heart twist. He closed his eyes instead, not wanting Morgana to read the uneasy emotion in them. 

 

“I hope so too,” he murmured, before he let the ebb of the nighttime and his heavy heart lull him to sleep, the gentle rise and fall of Morgana’s breathing softly coloring the inside of his mind in blacks and whites until everything blurred into quiet, numbing gray. 

 

***

 

_ (“This… this is a dream- a  _ **_dream,_ ** _ okay, calm down.  _

_ Hello? You can hear me, right?  _

_ We’ve been looking everywhere for each other, haven’t we?  _

_ What’s your name? Mine’s Ak-”) _

 

_ \----   _

 

The next morning, Yusuke slowly groaned as a slant of sunlight cut across his eyes, making him shift to sit up before rubbing away the lingering sparks behind his eyelids. 

 

When he opened his eyes, however, he froze, when he realized he was  _ still _ in Akira’s room. 

 

_ Oh no- not another one of these days,  _ he lamented, particularly when he remembered the mess that was yesterday afternoon. He blearily thanked his memory for reminding him that Shujin gave two-day weekends before their exam weeks, dragging his hands down his face and hoping that he wouldn’t be here for the rest of the week as he had no clue as to where he’d need to begin studying, and if any of the others asked him for assistance? He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle that.

 

_ You need to calm down, Yusuke- you’re needlessly working yourself up,  _ he scolded himself, but he couldn’t shake the cold in stomach as everything was twisted and crooked before him.  _ I do hope Akira is alright, but Sensei was on a bit of isolation stint while he focused on piecing together the last of his exhibition, so I don’t believe he should be too much of a bother.  _

 

“You good?” a sleep-wrought voice asked him, and he looked down to see a yawning Morgana flashing sharp teeth before scrubbing a paw at his eye. “You were a bit restless last night; kept wakin’ me up..” 

 

“Apologies,” Yusuke mumbled, quiet. Morgana frowned at him. 

 

“Oh hey, you guys are already awake,” Futaba said from the door, her words floating in gently from where she peered in, still dressed in her pajamas. “I’m surprised!” 

 

“Like you can talk, going to bed at what- three? four? and getting up at  _ two, _ ” Morgana retorted, and she giggled, slipping inside and shutting the door behind her to creep toward them, hands wriggling in front of her as she reached down for Morgana; he scuttled under the covers to evade her. 

 

“Bold of you to assume I went to sleep last night,” she said, a wicked grin on her face as she pounced, earning a yelp from both cat and boy as she yanked a wiggling Morgana from underneath the covers to victoriously pepper his belly with kisses. Yusuke was equal parts appalled as he was amused, and he watched Morgana shove his feet into her face in a futile attempt to stop her. 

 

“I’m impressed he hasn’t scratched you yet,” Yusuke chimed in, and she snorted, turning to look at him, her eyes flashing like scarab shells behind the wide rims of her glass. 

 

“Don’t doubt me so much,” she said coolly, teasingly, and Morgana whined from where he was trapped in her arms; she released him, and he scampered to the other side of the bed to scowl at her from afar. 

 

“I never said I did,” Yusuke replied, pulling his knees up and wincing as he twisted to adjust his back. 

 

“No, but I could tell,” she said, sliding forward to poke accusingly at his shin, before the faintest change in her face made Yusuke pause- 

 

Two parts curiosity, one part cautiousness, all wrapped up in a slyly innocent Cheshire grin as she leaned forward to rest her chin atop her crossed arms that she’d balanced on his knees. 

 

“I have a question for you,” she added, and Yusuke blinked slowly. 

 

“What is it?” he said, wary, and she smiled sweetly, shushing Morgana, who tried to speak up. 

 

“Oh, it’s nothing bad, I promise you,” she said, tilting her head, before reaching up to poke his cheek. “Just something small.” 

 

_ Oh no.  _

_ Please don’t tell me-  _

 

“Just who exactly are you? Because you sure as  _ hell _ aren’t Akira.” 

 

Yusuke’s heart dropped into his stomach faster than an elevator with its cables cut. 

 

***

With the sound of faintly-blue music curling around him, Akira opened his eyes to squint tiredly at the ceiling, groaning, before his settings registered and he swore loudly.

_ Why am I still in Yusuke’s room?  _

“Damn, it must be another double day,” he mumbled, pulling himself up to scrub at his face, then dropping his hands to stare blankly at the room in front of him. The alarm was still playing gently from were the phone was still perched on Yusuke’s desk, and as he slipped out of bed to pad toward it, he was struck with an odd sense of the small condo being empty. 

_ Madarame usually yells if I let the alarm go on too long,  _ he thought as he clicked it off, setting the phone back down to cautiously leave the room. There was a different train of thought that Akira quietly set at the back of his mind as he opened the door, knowing the most likely cause for Yusuke still routinely waking up early even when his summer break had just started, but he was distracted from it when he realized his earlier hunch had been correct- 

No Madarame at the table, waiting, nor a light on his room; the door wasn’t even closed, a false invitation for comfort that Akira knew was closer to the waiting trap of a venomous snake’s jaws. (After all, he was acutely aware of the room just down the hall that was padlocked, painted in overly-intricate peacock feathers, and knew that Madarame could always escape to the safety of locked privacy when Yusuke’s own bedroom bore no lock of any sort.) 

“Where’d he go? He normally lets us know whenever he’s going out,” Akira muttered, blinking, before spotting a small note on the table calling for his attention. Frowning, he reached for it, tucking a few obtrusive locks of hair behind his ear to squint at Madarame’s tiny, scrawled handwriting: 

_ I’m off to the post office to mail some international goods, so I’ll most likely be out by the time you read this; make sure you’re ready for our meeting today. We’ll have no time to waste the minute I return, so if you want to eat, do it beforehand.  _

Two sentences, each word perfectly placed yet still faintly cold, and Akira resisted the urge to crumple it. “The bastard doesn’t even treat him like a son,” Akira hissed to himself, frustrated, before he sighed resignedly and let the note fall back onto the table. 

It was the only source of conflict Akira and Yusuke had between them, trapped in margins of notes and in the subtext of long reports read blearily the next morning that left Akira stuck and helpless and Yusuke cold and defensive. While the bruises from the first time Akira had swapped had long-faded with no new ones to take their place, Akira could still feel the still-healing gashes on the underside of Yusuke’s bicep that he now knew were the marks of fingernails digging into the soft skin in vice grip. They  _ should _ be healed, but they still twinged and cracked whenever Akira moved, the tiny bandages that now replaced the original gauze scraping at shirts and at Akira’s heart. 

(He knew Yusuke picked at them, tearing them open again and again, and whether it was intentional or compulsive, he wasn’t sure he’d ever know.) 

Akira had left the issue on the back burner after the last time he’d try to gently ask Yusuke about it, horrified when Yusuke  _ snapped  _ at him in dangerously-placed syllables of  _ stay away, you don’t know what you’re talking about: _

_ “There’s no  _ **_abuse_ ** _ here- how could there be, when Sensei has so graciously taken me under his wing, given me his hospitality and his tutelage, his  _ **_time?_ ** _ Don’t spout such meaningless accusations against a man you barely know.” _

That was the day Akira learned just how  _ venomous  _ Yusuke could be, shocked to find a serpent hidden behind the kind exterior and the heart scrawled in pages and in paint, so open and warm. 

(Faintly, he wondered what Yusuke’s voice would sound like when he was angry- what _ color _ it would be- before he shook his head, shaking away the idiotic thought.) 

“I should probably try and eat something before he gets home, then,” Akira said, shifting around the table to slide into the kitchen, silent as a wraith. He figured he had enough time to make a bit of rice, and he laughed victoriously when he found a container of leftover miso soup on the fridge shelf. Considering the amount of curry rice he’s had to make before, his mind went pleasantly blank as he started the process on muscle memory, only pausing momentarily as he scoured over the unfamiliar buttons. 

With that, he hunted around for a bowl and set it next to the rice cooker before heading back toward Yusuke’s room, humming tunelessly to himself as he tried to find clean clothes for the day. (Yusuke had tried explaining his system of cycling out the few outfits he had, and Akira had only blankly stared at the words on the screen with a dawning sense of confusion and slight empathy.) He was halfway through sifting through the drawers when a bright cyan chirp suddenly shattered the silence of the room, making Akira’s breathe wheeze pitifully out of his lungs in shock.  _ Shit, I didn’t realize the ringtone was so loud- who’s calling?  _ “Oh crap, don’t tell me it’s Madarame,” he swore, tossing the shirt he’d grabbed onto the bed in favor of rushing for the phone, squinting at the caller ID. 

_ UNKNOWN CALLER,  _ it read,  _ STORE IN JUNK FOLDER?  _

Below that, however, was a string of _very_ familiar numbers that had Akira’s mind screeching to halt. 

_ How the hell-?  _

The phone went silent for a few seconds, innocuous as a bird in his palm, before it started singing again with the same message. 

_ UNKNOWN CALLER- STORE IN-?  _

Akira instantly pressed the  _ accept call  _ button, holding it to his ear with an uncomfortable feeling squirming in his chest and radiating up into his shaking hands. With a click of connection, his heart lurched, and after a beat of silence he breathed a shaky “ _ Hello?”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Next chapter:   
> First 'meetings', texting, and slow, taffy realizations of 'oh, I think I like you'


	4. Ambedo (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First contact, unsettling and anxious, but sincere nonetheless as hearts are nervously bared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update!  
> Did I mention that this act is a very Sakura-heavy one? Sorry 'bout that. Act three will have more of the Tokyo side!
> 
> This chapter:  
> Slip-ups, texting, and Yusuke and Akira's first technical 'meeting'!

“I’m sorry, I don’t- I don’t know what you mean,” Yusuke blurted, words fraying, and Futaba huffed, lifting her head.

 

“Don’t play dumb with me,” she scolded, and he Yusuke winced as he saw the sharpness in her eyes.

 

“Futaba…” Morgana warned quietly, but she paid him no mind.

 

“I’ve known for a while now that you aren’t him, but it didn’t fully settle in until yesterday,” she started, fingers drumming on his knee, unintentionally in time to Yusuke’s frantic heartbeat. “So spill, before I _force_ it out of you.”

 

Yusuke laughed breathlessly. “‘Force it out’?” he parroted, the words catching in his throat. “That’s not necessary, considering _I don’t know what you’re talking about.”_

 

“Don’t be stupid,” she snapped, and Yusuke’s eyes widened. “You can’t fool me- I know my brother like the _back of my hand-”_

 

“Isn’t he your cousin?” Yusuke immediately corrected, only registering his words for the mistake they were the minute Futaba grinned at him. _Got you,_ the smile read, and Yusuke shut his eyes, blowing out a deep breath before covering his face with his hands. _No way out of that one, Yusuke._

 

“Told you I’d make you spill,” she crowed, and Yusuke only groaned, ignoring the feeling of Morgana’s insistent paws on his thigh.

 

“He’s going to be upset with me,” Yusuke mumbled, a flush of shame burning its way across his face as Futaba laughed brightly; her neons did nothing to ease the chill in his stomach though, until small hands pried his hands from his face to stare deeply into his eyes. “What?” he squeaked, trying to lean away, but she kept him still, pinned under her gaze like a helpless butterfly.

 

“I’ve been wondering if this would happen, and now that it did? _Gah,_ I can’t believe it’s _real!”_ she cheered, making Yusuke wince as electric yellow curled sharply around him.

 

“That’s an odd reaction considering the fact that you just discovered a changeling instead of your cousin,” Yusuke said slowly, but she blew him off with a raspberry.

 

“She hasn’t shut up about it since last week,” Morgana said dryly, and he turned to blink at him curiously. “She’s been _obsessed_ with the story since Sojiro first told it.”

 

“Story? What story?” Yusuke asked sincerely, and Futaba smirked, shifting until she was cross-legged over the bed.

 

“According to Sojiro, it’s a Sakura-family curse of some sort where they’re forced to swap bodies with someone, though one really knows why,” she explained, absently toying with her hair. “Maybe it’s the mountains here, considering we haven’t left Itomori since city was founded way back when.”

 

Yusuke creased his eyebrows, slowly stretching out his legs to stop his knees from complaining. “Forced to swap bodies? And it’s happened _before?”_ he asked, perplexed. “Are you sure this isn’t some elaborate plan you’ve concocted to punish me? Wait, maybe I’m still sleeping-”

 

“Don’t be dumb, Inari, it’s not that,” she swap, smacking his knee, “even _Sojiro_ swapped, so it’s not just you!”

 

His nose wrinkled at the slip of an unfamiliar name. _“‘Inari’?”_

 

“Oh god, don’t tell me you _actually_ plan on using that,” Morgana complained, and Yusuke cast him a wary glance.

 

“Why not? _I_ think it’s appropriate,” she retorted, crossing her arms defiantly.

 

“And _I_ think it’s dumb!” Morgana fired back as he crawled into Yusuke’s lap- much to the latter’s confoundment- tail curling contentedly around himself as he glared at Futaba.

 

“What’s _Inari?”_ Yusuke cut in, thrown off guard when Futaba fixed him with a predatory smile.

 

“Here we go,” Morgana mumbled dryly, and Yusuke gently stroked the soft fur at the base of his ears to soothe him, an immediate gesture he hadn’t realized he’d picked up.

 

“Well, when I _first_ noticed things were hinky with you- er, well, _Akira_ \- I did legitimately think you were possessed by something, so I asked Mona about what kinda spirits were nearby,” she started, sticking her tongue out at Morgana when he rolled his eyes. “Since we’re by a fox shrine, I thought maybe he’d been possessed by a fox, and thus- _Inari!_ It stuck even when I knew it was just you, but I found it fitting. _”_

 

She seemed so proud of herself, despite the lack of context.

 

Yusuke cocked an eyebrow. “Are you telling me you’ve been _calling_ me that? Why not even _Kitsune,_ or something not as _foolish?”_

 

She scoffed, pressing a hand dramatically to her chest. “Why? Oh, sweet Inari, I found it appropriate! After all, _inarizushi_ is rather tasty.”

 

Yusuke’s lips flattened into a thin line. “You mean to tell me you named me after a _food?”_ he asked slowly, and she lifted her chin in a challenge.

 

“Yeah, and what of it?”

 

Yusuke spluttered, hands gesturing empitly. “Why that’s- that’s _preposterous!”_

 

“And why would that be, _Inari?”_ she retorted, bitter defiance in her words as she leaned toward him.

 

“Because I _happen_ to have a name, you know,” he quipped, annoyed.

 

Futaba grinned widely, and Yusuke blinked, realizing that once again, he’d fallen into her trap.

 

“The score reads Futaba 2, Inari 0,” she declared, and he gaped at her.

 

His mouth opened once, then shut, before he shook his head with a wisp of a laugh. “You are utterly _incorrigible,”_ he said, and she laughed victoriously.

 

“So, gimme the deets!” she declared, and Yusuke scowled at her. “What, cat got your tongue? Or, well, _lap,_ rather,” she amended, snickering at the displeased noise Morgana let out.

 

“How about this: I tell you my name if you tell me the rest of the story Sakura-san told you,” Yusuke bargained, and she wrinkled her nose at him.

 

“Ew, _please_ don’t call him that,” she complained, and he tilted his head.

 

“Why not? It’s only respectful, considering he isn’t _my_ father,” he replied, and she sighed dramatically, waving him off.

 

“Fine, whatever floats your boat,” she said begrudgingly, “I’ll tell you the rest of _Sojiro’s_ story too.”

 

He smiled lightly. “Thank you.”

 

She huffed, shuffling her legs and falling backwards to stretch loudly, and Yusuke ran his hands through his hair in a futile attempt to get it out of his eyes. When he looked back up, Futaba was staring at him once again, her sudden appearance making a spark of surprise warm his chest. “Soooo, what’s your name? Where are you from?”

 

 _So, she’s playing it her way once again. I suppose it isn’t too much trouble, as I trust she’ll still tell me; best to humor her._ “My name is Kitagawa Yusuke,” he started, hands slowly shifting until one was tucked under his thigh and the other was buried in Morgana’s fur, simply trying to keep them from fidgeting. “I was born and raised in Tokyo.”

 

Futaba gasped loudly, eyes bright. “You’re really from _Tokyo?_ Really really?” she asked excitedly, and he blinked.

 

“I’m in no position to lie to you,” he said slowly, but his remark did nothing to deter her.

 

“That’s so _cool!”_ she blurted, and Yusuke thought he faintly heard a snicker from his lap. “Is it really as crowded as it looks?”

 

“...Yes?”

 

She shuddered then. “Never mind, then, I’ll stay here,” she said, and Yusuke was lost. “Anyway! Let’s do some digging,” she said, switching to a brighter personality at the speed of light before pulling out her phone and tapping something into it. “This is how you write your name, right?” she said, shoving the phone under his nose.

 

He winced at the brightness, pushing her hand down to examine the characters from a further distance. “Yes, that’s correct, but why do you-?”

 

“Shush! Lemme work!”

 

Yusuke ceded, returning back to petting Morgana, who purred contentedly.

 

A minute of heavy silence passed where Futaba was hunched over her phone, scrolling and swiping and typing before she burst out with an “Ah _ha!”_ and held her phone aloft. “Kitagawa Yusuke, age 18, born on 01/28-” she read each of the digits individually, curiously enough- “legal dependant of Madarame Ichiryusai, and a third-year at Kosei High School,” she rattled off, pausing. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

 

“What the- how on _earth_ did you find all that in barely a minute?” he blurted, utterly incredulous, and she smirked.

 

“Considering she barely leaves her room, she had to focus her energy on talents _elsewhere,”_ Morgana snickered, and Futaba pouted at him.

 

“How dare you downgrade my _ultra_ hacking skills like that?” she complained, pausing when she noticed Yusuke giving her a look of surprise. “What, did my _skills_ scare you?” she teased, and he shook his head.

 

“The opposite, actually,” he admitted. “There’s an incredible amount of people in Tokyo alone, and the fact that you were able to find _me_ out of so many others is just astonishing.” She glowed at his praise.

 

“Don’t butter her up too much or she’ll never shut up,” Morgana warned, and she gave him a sharp look.

 

“If you think that bare amount of of info is impressive, then let’s see what _else_ we can find!” she said, face shifting into a darker one of challenge as she dove back in despite Yusuke’s attempt to lunge for her phone. “Ooh, you’re a smart cookie, though it seems you struggle a bit in math,” she continued, standing up and dancing away from him as she kept scrolling. “Your teachers describe you as quiet but polite, and- oh! You’re on an honors scholarship for the fine arts division! _That_ explains all the doodles!”

 

“You _saw_ those?” he called breathlessly as he tried to catch her and missing once again; she hopped up onto the desk and held her leg out, kicking him once he got too close.

 

“How could I _not?_ They were all _over_ his notes!” she said, a pair of glowing lenses and a wild grin from behind her phone. “Oh, damn, has anyone told you that this school ID photo is _really_ shitty?”

 

“That’s _incredibly_ rude, you know-!”

 

“Hey, you didn’t deny it!”

 

_“Futaba!”_

 

Her mischievous grin fell when her eyes landed on something, twisting into a faint frown, and a spike of alarm flickered through Yusuke. “What’s wrong?” Morgana asked, now having hopped up onto the desk beside her in an attempt to peer at the phone.

 

“Your mom died when you were three?” Her words were sober and softened, eyes wide; Yusuke didn’t understand her reaction.

 

“Yes, she did,” he said, “but I don’t remember her too clearly. I know she was often sick and that she died of a seizure, but the clearest memory I have of her is merely a feeling.” He watched her digest his response, noticing when her fingers squeezed around her phone. “Is something wrong?”

 

She sucked in a breath before speaking. “It’s just that- I lost my mom too,” she eventually said, her words no longer the familiar neon green but a darkened emerald. “Car accident. I wasn’t _that_ old, but I was old enough to remember her and how much I loved her.”

 

Hesitantly, Yusuke reached out to place a hand on her knee, trying to ground her. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said sincerely, catching her eye. “I suppose I was the luckier one in being so young.”

 

She laughed then, shaking off his arm before nudging him in the ribs. “No one should be _lucky_ to lose their mother,” she said, _“but,_ it seems you get to join the rest of us; Akira lost his as well.”

 

That made Yusuke’s eyebrows jump in surprise. _A coincidence?_ “He did? What happened?”

 

“She died giving birth to him,” she explained, shifting on top of the desk and turning to root through a small drawer, “so he grew up for a bit with his dad, until he kinda lost it due to grief and was deemed unable to take care of Akira, so he came to live with us instead. Ah! Here we go,” she added brightly, thrusting a photo towards Yusuke. He took it, bewildered, and examined the image he saw:

Pictured were two people- siblings, as their faces gave them away- broken into laughter Yusuke didn’t know the context of. One of them was someone Yusuke recognized as Sojiro, many many years younger but still alight in his mischievous and suave personality, while the woman next to him radiated quiet beauty, her arms linked around Sojiro as her dark hair tangled around them both in an unforeseen breeze. Yusuke’s bewilderment softened into a smile. “They seemed to love each other dearly,” he said, looking back up at her, feeling Morgana scale his shoulder and peer over it to gaze down at the photo.

 

“Woah, they really _do_ look alike here,” he commented, and Futaba nodded.

 

“They were really close from what Sojiro said,” she said warmly, reaching for it, before her face fell again. “He apparently took it pretty hard when she died.”

 

“I can imagine,” Yusuke said soberly, handing the photo back to her. “Which of them was older?”

 

Futaba snorted. _“She_ was, by four whole years! But lookin’ at them, you wouldn’t expect it, huh?”

 

Yusuke chuckled, crossing his arms. “No, but I suppose I have no right to comment when I didn’t learn you and Akira weren’t actually siblings until Ryuuji mentioned it one day.”

 

Futaba laughed, a bright orange _Ha!_ that echoed around them as she tucked the photo back away. “What, the bright red hair didn’t give it away?” she teased, and Yusuke heard Morgana huff by his ear.

 

Yusuke tilted his head. “You dye it, though, do you not?” he asked, confused, jumping when she whipped around to squint at him.

 

“Who told you that? That is _strictly_ classified information!” she demanded, leaning forward until she was up in his face.

 

“Well hey, don’t look at me- _I_ didn’t do it,” Morgana commented, dropping from Yusuke’s shoulder onto the desk chair.

 

“I didn’t know you were sensitive about it,” Yusuke apologized. “I just happened to notice a faint bit of new root growth at your scalp, that’s all.”

 

Futaba stared at him, gaping, and he resisted the urge to recoil.

 

Then she burst out laughing, falling back onto the desk and swinging her feet. “Don’t get so uptight, ‘m not mad about it,” she giggled, waving him off. “Just fuckin’ with ya. Though I’ll make the conscious effort to ignore the _roots_ comment.”

 

Yusuke blinked. “Understood.”

 

She whacked him, hand against his chest. “No being formal!”

 

He winced, shifting away from her. “My apologies.” She rolled her eyes, throwing up her hands in defeat before sliding off of the desk.

 

“Now, where did you leave his ph- _aha!_ There we go,” she muttered, before waving Yusuke and Morgana over and collapsing in Akira’s futon, tapping away at his phone.

 

“What are you doing?” Yusuke asked warily, slowly leaning down to sit in in front of her, with Morgana joining them, scampering over to peek over Futaba’s arm; she bopped him in the head, shielding the screen from his sight.

 

“Something very important, if my calculations are correct,” she said, before looking up at him over the rim of her glasses. “You two haven’t made an attempt to communicate, right?”

 

Yusuke shook his head, a deep feeling of regret washing through him. “Outside of written notes and phone reports, our lives were too chaotic to think straight,” he said looking down at his hands.

 

“Huh, weird.”

 

Yusuke looked back up at her. “What is it?”

 

She waved him off, eyes flickering back down to the phone. “Nothing, nothing, just- well, Sojiro kinda said a similar thing about when he was switching,” she said, words trailing off as she dove back into whatever she was doing.

 

Yusuke couldn’t lie; he’d thought many times about trying to call just to see if it would work, if he could hear Akira’s voice as it was created to be heard, but something always stopped him- an intangible fear, a coldness, a fear that would nibble away at his resolve until he forgot what he was worrying about.

 

“Okay, then, here we go!” Futaba announced, sitting up excitedly before handing him Akira’s phone. Yusuke squinted at it. “Here, it’s for you,” she said, gesturing with it, and Yusuke took it, turning the phone toward himself and freezing once he saw the screen.

 

_NOW CALLING: INARI_

_Mobile Number…._

 

His own phone number winked up at him, and a sick feeling of dread swept through him.

 

“Woah, Futaba, what did you do?” Morgana called, his voice drifting over top of Yusuke’s sudden spluttering.

 

“You- what did you-?” Yusuke blurted brokenly, suddenly terrified of the phone now buzzing in his hands like a cicada cupped between his palms, alien and _loud._ (He couldn’t bring himself to cancel the call, however.)

 

“Reverse-searched you, duh,” she said, giving him a look, “not like it was hard.”

 

_“You-”_

 

“You don’t really talk to anyone, do you? Like, I saw four contacts in there, I think? And you don’t text that much either from the charges I saw,” she pressed, and Yusuke’s face went red. She nudged him then, craning her head up to peer at the screen. “Hey, the phone stopped ringing- is he awake?”

 

“He should be,” Yusuke mumbled, looking back down at the _CALL FAILED_ screen, “my alarm was still set.”

 

“Oh shit, is he at _school?”_

 

“Of course not; Kosei just started break,” Yusuke replied matter-of-factly, still staring down at the phone in his hand. His knees were starting to ache, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to either move off them or redial the number, frozen on a seesaw of a decision. _A cliff, more like- what happens when the call goes through?_ **_If_ ** _the call goes through? What would it be like, having a concrete connection with him-?_

 

“Yo, earth to Inari, either press redial or give it to me,” Futaba cut in flatly, and he wasn’t given a chance to reply before she huffed and lunged forward to smack at the screen, ignoring Yusuke’s half-gasp-half-choke of _wait!_ before the phone was ringing again-

 

This time, the call was picked up before the first ring finished, a faint click crackling over the tinny speakers that had Futaba scrambling over to press the _speaker_ button before a quiet, muted voice spoke, barely a whisper. _“Hello?”_

 

Yusuke’s heart pounded, sharp and undeniable in the exhilarated fear deep in his stomach.  

 

“Akira, is that you?” Yusuke found himself asking, barely able to make out a sense of voice over how the distance warped its color into faint reds.

 

A pause, before a faint inhale of breath. **_“Yusuke?_** _Oh, that’s weird, hearing my own voice ask that,”_ came the reply, and something in Yusuke _sang._

 

_It’s him! He’s real, he’s real, he’s-_

 

 _“Oh yeah,_ who’s the badass?” Futaba sang, gesturing dramatically to herself, and Morgana let out a noise of disgust.

 

 _“Wait, was that_ **_Futaba?”_ **Akira asked, and Yusuke was both flummoxed as well as intrigued in hearing how his own voice was shaped around words in a entirely different fashion, pitched just a tad higher and brighter, his familiar ice blue shaded in electric reds from the phone’s interference.

 

“None other, my dear brother!” she replied, the pleased nature in her voice bringing a gold outlining to her regular neons that made Yusuke blink in surprise.

 

 _“....Futaba, what the fuck,”_ Akira blurted, and she burst out laughing, clutching at her stomach as she fell over. Yusuke, meanwhile, was disturbed at hearing his voice warped by the expletive. _“What did you do? Did you do something to him? How the hell did you manage to call this number?”_ Akira rushed out, only making Futaba laugh harder.

 

“Jeez,” Morgana groaned, shifting away from the girl to slink into Yusuke’s lap.

 

_He talks in fits and bursts, flowing from one thing to the other- his dialect is the same as the others here, of course, but I think he’s more expressive than he realizes._

 

“Oh my god, Akira, you’re so _mad,”_ she wheezed, and Yusuke couldn’t help biting back a smile when he heard a sharp sigh over the line. “I didn’t do anything, promise! He spilled on his own!”

 

Another pause. _“Yusuke, you have every right to smack her if she’s lying,”_ he said, and the bit-back smile turned into a single beat of laughter, surprised.

 

“While she didn’t coerce me into telling her, there was some… well, _gentle_ manipulation toward the truth,” he admitted, and Futaba shot up to glare at him with a loud gasp.

 

“How _dare_ you slander me!” she accused, and the smile on Yusuke’s face only widened as she lightly punched him in the leg. “Akira, I did _nothing_ of the sort!”

 

 _“Uh huh, yeah, I believe you,”_ Akira drawled, low and sarcastic, and Yusuke’s eyes widened at hearing how sickly-sweet his voice could become. _(Is that_ **_really_ ** _what I sound like?)_

 

_“Rude!”_

 

 _“I have every right to be; you know,_ **_familial_ ** _rights and all that,”_ Akira continued, and Futaba puffed out her cheeks angrily.

 

“Yeah, that’s definitely Akira,” Morgana said, and a faint chuckle rippled over the room, still tinny from the phone.

 

 _“Hey, Mona, it’s good to hear from you,”_ Akira mused, and Morgana let out a self-satisfied purr, chest puffing out proudly. _“I have to admit, that’s one of the few things I can’t really get used waking up here when I’m used to having a snoring cat glued to me.”_ There was a faint dip into blue sincerity, a touch of sadness gnawing at his tone, and Yusuke felt displaced guilt dark and heavy behind his breastbone.

 

Morgana bristled then, and Yusuke’s mood lightened slightly. “Hey, two mistakes there- _one,_ I’m not a cat, and _two,_ I do _not snore!”_

 

 _“Well then, I happen to have a small, cat-shaped creature who makes very cute chirping noises in his sleep that I’m used to sharing a bed with,”_ Akira ribbed, and it was Morgana’s turn to petulantly puff out his cheeks.

 

“I’m sensing an inherent knack for teasing,” Yusuke cut in, a thin smile tugging at his lips as he shifted his aching knees to set his phone on top of his thigh, cupping his elbows. “I must say, I’m not entirely sure if that surprises me or not, though it’s amusing nonetheless.”

 

There was a pause after that, before a faint, disorganized noise emerged from the phone, making all three of them stare at the phone in confusion. _“You really are a blunt one, huh?”_ Akira eventually said, making Yusuke knit his eyebrows.

 

“Am I?” he asked, genuinely concerned, and Akira huffed a laugh. (Yusuke felt inexplicably warm, for some strange, unfamiliar reason.)

 

A distant buzz and a faint swear on Akira’s end disturbed the moment, before he spoke again. _“Shit, Madarame’s headed back- what was that meeting he mentioned, anyway?”_

 

Yusuke paused, thinking, chewing on his cheek as he did so. “What’s the date- oh! It’s the second, so you have the meeting with the tenants of the museum today,” he said, before his eyebrows knit. “I thought I’d left a note for you just in case.”

 

Another faint bud of a laugh. _“Yusuke, I don’t know how to explain this to you in without being blunt, but I literally woke up the other morning on the floor and covered in paint,”_ Akira said dryly, his voice becoming distant for a second as if he’d stepped away. _“Your room was a mess! And I think I still have paint in my ear, which I’m not sure I wanna know how you got there.”_

 

Yusuke pinked when Futaba burst out laughing, joined by a snickering Morgana, and he moved his arms to shield over his chest. “I wasn’t intending on having you see that,” he mumbled, shifting awkwardly.

 

 _“Don’t worry about it,”_ Akira placated, and he was strangely soothed by the simple words, _“‘s not as if you can control when we switch. I tried cleaning up as best as I could, but I didn’t want to disturb anything too much.”_

 

A faint flicker of alarm flashed through Yusuke’s mind, realization settling in. “Did you happen to cover the easel?”

 

 _“Huh? Oh, yeah, I did, if you were worried about that,”_ Akira answered, and Yusuke blew out a deep breath in relief. _“What are you painting anyway? It’s easily got to be one of the biggest canvasses I’ve seen,”_ Akira continued, and fishhook discomfort slid over Yusuke’s ribs.

 

“Ooh, tell us, Inari, tell us!” Futaba pressed excitedly, literally bouncing in her seat enough that Morgana yowled at her.

 

He was torn between scolding them and telling the truth, realizing he genuinely wanted to tell _Akira_ what he was working on, but felt a sense of violation in telling anyone else before it was finished.

 

_It’s a bit of an…. intimate subject, one I’m still trying to grasp, but…_

 

“It’s still a work in process, and I’d rather no one see it while I’m still developing it,” he eventually settled on, feeling the faintest bit guilty when Futaba pouted at him.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to share it with them, wanting to explain the torrent of feeling that gripped him whenever he so much as touched on the subject, hoping that speaking it aloud would somehow help him out of his frustration with the piece.

_It’s too soon._

 

“Why won’t you tell us? I mean, _Akira_ got to see! Why not _me?”_ she whined, pounding lightly on his back, and he deflated.

 

 _“It’s not as if I looked too closely at it,”_ Akira interjected, surprising Yusuke, _“I could see where he’d started, but I was mostly distracted by the paint in my_ **_ear.”_ **

 

 _So, this must be what he sounds like when he’s telling a lie,_ Yusuke realized quietly, still touched at how he tried to cover for him. After all, it was only human nature to examine half-finished works of art, feeding that hungry creature of curiosity until rational thought crept in to tap the mind and remind it that it was rude to stare. (His thumbs picked at his pants anyway, set off-balance by only a few carefully placed words.)

 

“Why were you on the floor, though?” Morgana asked, scrubbing at his ears before looking back up at Yusuke.

 

He sighed, shifting once again to dispel the unease creeping through him. “It wasn’t as if it was my intention to sleep there,” he started, a faint lift of annoyance in his voice, “but I simply became too exhausted in my artistic endeavor to move myself.”

 

A deep exhale came from the line, and Yusuke could imagine Akira pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. _“Your bed was only a few inches away, Yusuke,”_ he scolded lightly, and Futaba snickered.

 

Yusuke frowned slightly, the effect ruined by the laughter he was holding back poorly making the corners of his lips turn up. “You _were_ the one who mentioned the paint, did you not?” he retorted, Futaba’s snicker broke into a full bark of a laugh. “I didn’t want to make more of a mess than I already did.”

 

_“....Seriously?”_

 

Yusuke cracked a smile. “Deathly.”

 

Akira spluttered into shocked laughter, and Yusuke felt something bubble behind his breastbone at the banter.

 

“Inari, holy shit,” Futaba wheezed, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him choke. “So you _do_ have a sense of humor in there somewhere!”

 

“You talk as if I’m some soulless automaton,” Yusuke commented, turning to give her a sharp look, and she grinned.

 

“I mean hey, I’ve known you for the better part of about…. What, fifteen minutes? and that’s the first time I’ve heard you make any sort of joke.” She raised an eyebrow at him, challenging. “And I’m discounting the times you were pretending to be that guy-” she jabbed a thumb at the phone- “and doing an absolutely shitty job at it.”

 

He scoffed, mouth dropping open in insult. “Well, I apologize for the lack of humorous stimulation, as well as the sudden need to rapidly acclimate into an unfamiliar lifestyle,” he fired back haughtily, and she crossed her arms, leaning into his space.

 

(“Oh boy,” Morgana mumbled, and Akira snorted.)

 

“I’m thinking you might need to watch your phrasing there, _Inarizushi,_ or someone might take something the wrong way.”

 

“What’s there to be taken the wrong way apart from your use of that _hideous_ nickname?”

 

“Maybe you should Google what a _Freudian Slip_ is before we continue this conversation.”

 

“I unfortunately know plenty about Freud, thank you very much, though I don’t feel the need to further elaborate on that topic.”

 

“You sure? _I’m_ not the one who apparently prefers being on the floor at night _covered in paint and nothing else-”_

 

“Well _now_ you’re just taking my situation out of context!”

 

“‘Context’? I don’t know what you mean; I only use my skills of deduction and profiling to make educated, accurate guesses!”

 

“I’m not sure I like what you’re insinuating you’ve _deduced_ here.”

 

“A- _ha!_ See, if you’re uncomfortable, then that means I _must_ be right!”

 

 _“Absolutely_ not-”

 

“Ah-ah-ah, denial’s only the second stage of confirmation!”

 

_“Futaba-”_

 

Her reply was cut off when a sudden burst of rich blue laughter bubbled out of the phone, drawing everyone’s attention away from Futaba and Yusuke’s pointless argument. It kept boiling over, uncontrolled and breathless as Akira laughed himself silly to the point that he was half-hiccuping, and Yusuke was entranced.

 

It was odd hearing how his own laughter echoed in his ears, reckless and outside of the box Yusuke normally kept it contained in, ungraceful and uncoordinated yet _sincere,_ and he decided that hearing _Akira_ laugh in his own voice would be a masterpiece all to its own.

 

 _“Fuck, my sides- Jesus, you two bicker worse than we do,”_ Akira eventually choked out, a few more giggles slipping through. _“Sorry, I didn’t mean to- god, that must be weird to hear yourself laugh like that, huh, Yusuke?”_

 

Yusuke blinked, not computing, and Futaba snorted. “I think you broke him a bit, brother dear,” she said, nudging Yusuke in the ribs and making him wince.

 

_“Sorry?”_

 

“You heard me,” she replied, a shit-eating grin on her face and seeping into her words in watercolor-pale green.

 

_“....Huh?”_

 

 _“I've been hearing you guys laugh your asses off up there, so come down and help me with breakfast already!”_ Sojiro suddenly bellowed, making all three- technically four, if you count Akira’s hissed breath of shock and the effect of the phone shifting on Yusuke’s flinching leg- jump.

 

“Oooh, you’re in _trouble,”_ Morgana crowed, and Yusuke gave him a withering looking, biting back a smile when Futaba reached out to poke him in the nose and make him sneeze, the tiny sound a perfect sixteenth note of a black key.

 

 _“Ah, guess I should get ready, then,”_ Akira said, a little sadly, thought Yusuke could hear how he tried keeping his tone level. _“Anything you need to warn me about for this meeting?”_

 

Yusuke shook his head, disregarding how foolish an action it was for someone who couldn’t see. “Just let Sensei do most of the talking, please.”

 

 _“Okay, I think I can manage that,”_ Akira joked, and a faint shuffling crackled through the speaker. _“Honestly, I wish we had a bit more time to talk- I’ve got a million questions, and I don’t think I’d like an... audience, shall we say,  for those,”_ he added, a heavy emphasis on the latter that made Futaba’s eyebrow raise slowly and mischievously. (Yusuke didn’t miss Morgana’s tail twitch curiously either despite how his eyes were shut.)

 

“What, you guys gonna talk about your-?”

 

 _“I know where you sleep, Sakura Futaba, and I_ **_know_ ** _you sleep like the dead,”_ Akira warned, and Yusuke couldn’t help but laugh, covering his mouth with his palm as Futaba rolled her eyes dramatically.

 

“Like you’re gonna kill me,” she drawled, and Akira made a noise like a mock scoff.

 

 _“As if I’d be so predictable; I would, however, be one to rearrange everything in your room by color order_ **_and_ ** _unplug all of your electronics.”_

 

The look on Futaba’s face was of genuine fear, and Yusuke kept his palm pressed over his lips to keep the laughter shaking in his chest from spilling out further. “You devious little bitch, just you _watch-”_

 

The faint echo of transmission-warped yellow-ochre from the line made Yusuke’s heart lurch, and the hand over his mouth froze as the laughter evaporated from his lungs. _“Oh fu- shit, I gotta go,”_ Akira fumbled, voice dropping into a mumble, _“so, uh, talk with you later?”_

 

“Of course!” Futaba chirped, and Akira clicked his tongue.

 

 _“You know who I meant,”_ he chided, sincerity warming over his frantic tone. _“Yusuke, do one thing for me today?”_

 

Yusuke knit his eyebrows, puzzled. “What is it?”

 

_“Make sure you eat what Sojiro makes, okay?”_

 

He wasn’t entirely sure why that request made his face warm, the insistence of care direct enough that he was caught off-guard.

 

“Don’t worry, we got it,” Morgana interrupted, which Yusuke was grateful for, “so go deal with whatever that was before you get in trouble!”

 

 _“Thank you,”_ Akira said sincerely, before the sound of a door being knocked on cut him off. _“Okay, gotta go-”_ the line cut off without any other send-off, and Yusuke watched as the call screen switched back to the home screen with a sense of warmth suddenly having vanished.

 

“So, how was it, talking face to face? Well, kinda,” Futaba asked, fishing for the phone and sliding it into her pocket; Yusuke gave her a wary look before scrubbing a hand through his hair, thinking.

 

“Not what I expected,” he said truthfully, and he looked down to see Morgana staring up at him, head tilted attentively. “However, it’s nice to have some… well, certainty, having talked with him, as the last few weeks I haven’t been sure if anything was real or not. It’s grounding.”

 

 **_He’s_ ** _grounding_ is what he nearly said, shaking his head as the memory of Futaba’s Freudian Slip jab filtered back through.

 

“I guess that’s one way of putting it,” Futaba said, tapping at her cheek as she processed.

 

“I bet being yourself helped too,” Morgana added, pressing a paw to the inside of Yusuke’s arm to get his attention. “Pretending to be something you’re not must be exhausting, I bet.”

 

Yusuke let out a deep sigh before reaching down to stroke under Morgana’s chin, a smile creeping onto his face at Morgana’s pleased purr. “It’s refreshing, for one,” he said, looking up to Futaba, “and despite your ways of _getting_ there, I appreciate your reaction toward the situation.”

 

Futaba laughed her odd, victorious laugh once again before snapping, remembering something. “That’s right, I owe you a story! So how about I tell you while you get your ass ready for today?”

 

“Not the way I would have put it, but please, tell the story,” he said, pushing himself off of the futon to stretch his legs and head back toward the closet, disappearing into the bathroom in search of clean clothes.

 

 _“Well,_ I’ll have to be a little louder since you’re buried back there, but a story you shall get nonetheless!” She cracked her fingers and flopped backward onto the bed, tugging out Akira’s phone to tap at it before beginning, Morgana hopping onto her stomach to curl up onto it. “So, it all began in summer, when Sojiro had just barely turned seventeen….”

 

As she talked, voice rising in falling in notes of old familiarity as the story unraveled, Yusuke found himself smiling as he pulled on a clean shirt, the gentle sound of rain beginning to fall tinting the entire room in soft, silver lavender as the story unraveled and wound around them.

 

***

 

“If you don’t mind, may I ask you something?”

 

“What’s up?”

 

“How _exactly_ did you know I wasn’t Akira?”

 

(A deep sigh, barely restraining laughter.) “Okay, full offense, but you _suck_ at acting, dude.”

 

“I’m... not sure I follow.”

 

“Well, for starters, the obvious thing is that I wasn’t kidding when I said I know Akira like the back of my hand, so that day I thought he was coming down with something was what tipped me off and I just kept watch; I asked Mona to keep an eye out for me too.”

 

“For what, pray tell?”

 

“Anything and everything! I mean, by the second and third time he went a whole day acting and talking weird, I pretty much guessed what had happened, but it was things that _Akira_ would’ve known that you kept forgetting- the glasses and Mona, for one.”

 

“I’ll have you know that I’ve never needed to wear glasses, so it wasn’t part of a familiar routine in looking for them-”

 

“You lucky bitch-”

 

 _“And_ it’s quite bizarre that he’d bring a _cat_ with him to school! Does no one notice?”

 

“I mean… I’m ninety percent certain that some people do but honestly just don’t give a shit.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

(A shrug.) “Eh, not like I go to school, so it’s not like know any better.”

 

“Now that you’ve mentioned it, I actually wanted to ask about that-”

 

 _“Nooo-pe!_ We’re talkin’ about you today, so shut up and listen!”

 

“...Well, since you insist.”

 

(A grin.) _“Anyway!_ You asked how else I know outside of obvious stuff like your voice and just acting _non-Akira-like,_ so let me enlighten you!”

 

 _“Must_ you be so theatrical?”

 

“That right there’s a starter- you talk all hoity-toity, and also _way_ more than Akira typically does at school from what his friends told me.”

 

“Really? He talks less than _I_ do?”

 

 _“Love_ how you aren’t surprised by the ‘hoity-toity’ part.”

 

“I- well, I’ve heard a variation of it over the years and decided to stop questioning just what they meant by it.”

 

“Well, that certainly sounds like you…”

 

“You’ve barely met me!”

 

 _“Incorrect!_ Technically, I’ve known you for a few weeks now as _well_ as the wonderful forty-five minutes we’ve already had together.”

 

(Yusuke gave her a blank, yet testy expression; she laughed.) “Okay, okay, I get what you mean, but that’s beside the point. Okay, three more things- er, well, two and a quarter, since I kinda already mentioned one, but you get it.”

 

“I don’t, actually.”

 

(She waved him off.) “Irrelevant. Now, what _really_ sold me was what happened during the trip to the Lupin’s, where you were completely _not-Akira_ to the point that I think even Sojiro kinda noticed.”

 

“Well, forgive me for that, particularly when you decided to _interrogate me.”_

 

“I _knew_ you were way too excited about the sunrise- come _on!”_

 

“I was frazzled enough from being abruptly woken up so early in the morning when I was expecting to still be in my own room _working!”_

 

“Oh _yeah,_ you still need to tell us what you were workin’ on-”

 

_“Absolutely not.”_

 

(She pouted.) “You know, I’m convinced you’re only nice to Akira and Mona.”

 

“Nah, he called me a demon once on one of the earlier days.”

 

“Ooh, scratch that- _just Akira,_ apparently.”

 

“And you’ve decided this all from a ten minute phone conversation?”

 

“Eleven minutes and thirty-six seconds, actually, but I’ll let that slide.”

 

“You’re impossible.”

 

“I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”

 

(A huff through the nose, sharp yet airy.) “I believe this leaves two things on your list, yes? I do think we should get to those before Sakura-san decides to come get us himself.”

 

“Shit, good point- so, speed round!” (She held up two fingers.) “One! You sleep differently than he does, and two! You’re a little _Ame-Otoko,_ aren’t ya?”

 

“Do elaborate, if you would.”

 

“Dammit, Inari, I just said it was a _speed round!”_

 

“My name is _Yusuke-”_

 

“Not in this house, it isn’t!”  

 

_“Futaba-”_

 

“Yo, relax, before I sic Mona on ya.”

 

“If you two are going to interrupt my nap, I’d prefer it _wasn’t_ to the sound of someone comparing me to a _dog.”_

 

“You just- shush, you tiny nutjob, I need to explain my genius!”

 

“Whatever, just be _quiet!”_

 

“Now! Back to you, little _Kitsune._ Considering I’ve shared many a bed with Akira-plus-cat, I know _quite_ well that he sleeps either on his back or flat on his face and _does not move,_ so imagine my surprise when I found you scrunched in a tiny little ball and constantly wriggling around like something had possessed you.”

 

“That seems a bit…. far-fetched to me.”

 

“Now is it, Mona-Mona, since the disbeliever doth doubt me?”

 

“I just want to _sleep-”_

 

“I’ll give you the extra tuna we have downstairs.”

 

“....See, I know for a fact that you’re just playing dirty, but tuna is nothing to be trifled with.”

 

“Good boy.”

 

“Do _not_ make me change my mind!”

 

“I think we need to wrap this us soon, you two.”

 

“Okay, okay, got it. She is right, though, Yusuke; you’re much more restless when you sleep, and you actually kicked me right off the bed once when Akira’s never done that even _once!”_

 

“Did I? I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention.”

 

(A snort.) “Don’t worry about; I figure you weren’t expecting to have company as it was.”

 

“I’ve never had a pet of any sort, so I’m not used to sharing space in that fashion.”

 

“I’m _not a-”_

 

“Wait until _after_ I’m done explaining everything to claw his eyes out!”

 

“I, um, I don’t think Akira would appreciate if you did that….”

 

“I’d do the same thing no matter _who_ said it!”

 

“Nah, you wouldn’t.”

 

“What, you wanna test me?”

 

“If it was Ryuuji who said it you’d rip his tongue out too!”

 

(A choke.) “That, uh- that’s a bit much-”

 

“Oh, no, you’re right, I _definitely_ would do that!”

 

_“Excuse me?”_

 

“Getting off topic again!”

 

“Hey, _you’re_ the one who started it!”

 

“Think of the tuna, Mona, and _shut up!”_

 

 _“Fine._ Only if I get some bacon too!”

 

“Can do! Now, my favorite part of how I always know you’re here….” (She gave him smile, softening just lightly.) “It always seems to rain, you little _Rain Man."_

 

“It does?”

 

“Mm-hm. I thought it was just the summer, but it was too regular to be a coincidence. Does it follow you to Tokyo too?”

 

“I suppose you could say that… actually, this isn’t the first time someone’s told me that; I just ignored it, though.”

 

“Does it bother you?”

 

(A fond smile, looking out toward the window.) “No, actually. It's one of my favorite colors, if I’m being honest.”

 

“Uh- what?”

 

“What is it?”

 

“You- never mind.”

 

_“Bacon’s going on in five minutes- don’t make me eat it all!”_

 

“Alright, rain boy, let’s get down there before we starve to death!”

 

“Wha- _hey,_ will you stop _pushing me-?”_

 

“Nope, ‘cause we promised Akira to make ya eat, so let’s _go!_ Mona, get the door open!”

 

_“Aye-aye!”_

 

“Hey, that’s my foot!”

 

“Technically it’s _Akira’s_ foot, but whatever.”

 

“For the love of-”

 

_“Time to food!”_

 

\------

 

When the sound of someone knocking on the bedroom door made his heart nearly explode, Akira had abruptly hung up and shoved the phone under the covers before turning to see Madarame open the door, pausing to give him a look. His hands clasped behind his back in an effort to keep them shaking from the adrenaline rush, but he kept his eyes locked with Madarame defiantly. “I’m glad to see you’re… well, mostly dressed,” Madarame said coolly, but something in his tone warned Akira that he’d need to watch his next words carefully. “Is there any particular reason why the rice cooker is still out?”

 

Akira’s fingers twitched. “Ah- I was just finishing with getting dressed before it went off,” he said, cursing himself when he heard his voice slip jerkily. “I didn’t realize it was finished.”

 

Madarame stared at him, and Akira’s stomach squirmed. “Do eat quickly, then, before we must depart,” he eventually said, and Akira nodded before Madarame slipped back into the hallway and shut the door lightly.

 

 _Shit,_ he wheezed, head spinning, _that was way too close. He didn’t hear anything, right?_ From the lack of anything significant on his face, he guessed that Madarame hadn’t caught him, but he couldn’t be too careful. He sighed, and focused on buttoning up the rest of the pale blue shirt, adjusting the collar.

 

 _I can’t believe I just talked directly with Yusuke,_ he thought incredulously, a little breathless as he thought back to how his own voice was shaped into a form of pure, careful edges and that oh-so gentle laugh, bouncing back and forth as Futaba pushed him. He tugged at one of his sleeves, trying to roll it up, only to pause when he looked back over to the easel he’d covered the day before. He remembered seeing it for the first time, discombobulated and slightly concerned at being on the floor, but drawn to the half-completed piece for a reason he couldn’t fathom.

 

It wasn’t as if it was all that much at moment, uncompleted as it was- shades of fresh, swirling gray that matched the smears covering his hands and the edges of the shirt he’d been wearing and the oh-so faint lines of pencil outlining something he couldn’t make out- but it was the first full piece of Yusuke’s that he’d ever been able to see. There was an energy to it outside of the tiny sketches and doodles he’d long familiarized himself with- bubble-gum pops of quick and fleeting heartbeats- and Akira was intrigued; it wasn’t as if he’d ever seen an artist in progress, let alone waking up in between said process.

 

 _‘It’s still a work in process,’_ he’d said, _‘and I’d rather no one see it while I’m still developing it.’_

 

_I wonder if he’ll let me see it once it’s completed. I hope he does._

 

_“Yusuke!”_

 

The daydream evaporated, sharp as a rubber band snapping against skin.

 

“I’m coming!”

 

Akira hastily dug for Yusuke’s phone, memories of the phone call and the painting stored away for later as he focused on drawing forth the persona of Yusuke as best he could as he stepped into the hallway.

 

\----

 

The meeting was- for lack of a better term- _boring,_ stiffly formal with the barest hint of fangs underneath neatly-placed words that made Akira’s skin crawl.

 

He hadn’t been quite sure if this was a normal exchange in regards to business in the art world, but he was thankful he hadn’t needed to say much outside of general pleasantries. The majority of the conversation had been in regards to duration and theme set-up for Madarame’s upcoming exhibition, and Akira noticed how subtly evasive he’d been when the two curators had asked to see a sample of his work, explaining that ‘seeing the completed assortment beforehand would ruin the end composition.’

Akira was impressed when that excuse apparently worked.  

(It only further cemented his distaste for the man, settling dark and heavy behind his breastbone in quiet resentment.)

 

Regardless, the meeting went smoothly, and Akira had managed to escape unscathed before they returned back to the condo a few hours later. The second Madarame gave any indication that he’d disengaged from Akira, Akira had quietly fled back to Yusuke’s room, shutting the door and leaning against it to pull out the phone in his back pocket.

 

Hesitantly, he chewed on his lip, deliberating, before he tapped into the message log to start a new text thread, watching as his own number blinked at him in waiting. _Would this even work?_ (He wasn’t sure.)

Finally, he sighed and pressed the send button, watching the bubble pop up as his question loitered:

 

_Me [2:34 pm]_

_Hello? Can you see this, Yusuke?_

 

An excruciating amount of time passed before a reply buzzed in, and Akira’s head whipped up from where he’d set his forehead against his drawn-up knees after sliding down onto the floor.

 

**_Unknown [2:41 pm]_ **

**_Yes, I can see this._ **

**_Unknown [2:41 pm]_ **

**_This is Akira, correct?_ **

 

Akira couldn’t help the tiny happy dance his heart did at seeing the response in all of its perfect, expected formality.

 

_Me [2:41 pm]_

_Unless I know another Kitagawa Yusuke who’s body I’m borrowing, then yes, you have the right person._

 

**_Unknown [2:41 pm]_ **

**_You really do have a charm for sarcasm, I see._ **

 

Akira laughed, a sharp note of faint blue.

 

_Me [2:41 pm]_

_Sorry. It’s just a Sakura thing_

_Me [2:42 pm]_

_It kinda rubbed off, I guess._

 

**_Unknown [2:42 pm]_ **

**_Oh, no, please don’t misunderstand me- It wasn’t my intent to admonish you._ **

**_Unknown [2:42 pm]_ **

**_It’s rather endearing if I’m to be honest._ **

 

Akira stared blankly at the phone.

 

_Me [2:42 pm]_

_Well, if I’m the sarcastic one, then you certainly fulfill the ‘blunt’ part of this relationship_

_Me [2:42 pm]_

_Not that I mind it._

_Me [2:43 pm]_

_Should I use your word against you? Endearing?_

 

“What am I _doing?”_ Akira muttered to himself, brain catching up to the words spilling from his fingers. _It’s like I’ve just stopped thinking-_

 

**_Unknown [2:43 pm]_ **

**_Well, I’ve never known anyone’s bluntness to be ‘endearing’, but I do suppose it’s a matter of opinion._ **

 

_Me [2:43 pm]_

_That’s one way to put it, I guess._

_Me [2:43 pm]_

_I think we may be talking ourselves into a circle, though…._

 

_(Shit, that wasn’t too sharp, was it?)_

 

**_Unknown [2:44 pm]_ **

**_Oh, you’re right._ **

**_Unknown [2:44 pm]_ **

**_Should we start over? I know this wasn’t what we wanted to talk about._ **

 

_Me [2:44 pm]_

_Unless Futaba’s being a hawk, then we should finally have some privacy._

 

**_Unknown [2:44 pm]_ **

**_Funny you say that- she’d actually just looked over my shoulder to see that message, and then proceeded to say- and I quote:_ **

**_Unknown [2:44 pm]_ **

**_“You tell him to stop being so shady before I kick him to Shanghai”_ **

**_Unknown [2:45 pm]_ **

**_Should I be concerned?_ **

 

Akira snorted.

 

_Me [2:45 pm]_

_Nah, just tell her I said she’s a noodle and she’ll leave you alone._

 

**_Unknown [2:46 pm]_ **

**_I don’t think she appreciated that response, if the alarming shade of maroon her face went was any indication…._ **

 

_Me [2:46 pm]_

_Akira: 1 Futaba: 0_

 

**_Unknown [2:46 pm]_ **

**_Ah, siblings._ **

**_Unknown [2:47 pm]_ **

**_Morgana’s complaining from my lap about the noise now._ **

**_Unknown [2:47 pm]_ **

**_In that same vein of thought, I did happen to have a few questions regarding him…._ **

 

_Me [2:47 pm]_

_Should we start from the beginning and work our way there, then?_

_Me [2:47 pm]_

_It’s a bit of a long story._

 

**_Unknown [2:47 pm]_ **

**_That seems reasonable._ **

**_Unknown [2:47 pm]_ **

**_So, how SHOULD we start?_ **

 

_Me [2:47 pm]_

_Easy-_

_Me [2:48 pm]_

_I’m Kurusu Akira, 18, I live in bumfuck Japan with a cousin who’s essentially my sister, my uncle, and my talking cat who isn’t actually a cat but some magical forest spirit. I also have three friends that I would most likely die for if they asked._

_Me [2:48 pm]_

_Also my homeroom teacher’s a maid._

 

**_Unknown [2:48 pm]_ **

**_I’m not_ **

**_Unknown [2:48 pm]_ **

**_I’m not sure that last part was relevant but_ **

 

The sudden stutter of texts made Akira knit his eyebrows, confused, before he realized that was most likely Yusuke’s way of conveying _laughter,_ and something warm hummed in his stomach.

 

**_Unknown [2:48 pm]_ **

**_Well then, let me go._ **

**_Unknown [2:48 pm]_ **

**_My name is Kitagawa Yusuke, and I’m a third-year at Kosei’s fine-arts division in Tokyo. I live under my sensei, who took me in when I was young, and strive to create art worthy of being beautiful both to see as well as feel._ **

 

_Me [2:49 pm]_

_See, now we got the easy part out of the way!_

_Me [2:49 pm]_

_Then we get to other things._

 

**_Unknown [2:49 pm]_ **

**_‘Things’? Such as?_ **

 

_Me [2:49 pm]_

_Well, you did ask about Mona, and I’ve got some of my own questions if that’s alright._

 

**_Unknown [2:49 pm]_ **

**_I was the one who started the inquiry, so please don’t feel bothered._ **

**_Unknown [2:50 pm]_ **

**_I am rather curious about him as it is._ **

 

Akira barely kept a smile at bay as he read the words, endeared by the fact that despite the entire mess of a situation, Yusuke was most intrigued by his _cat._

 

_Me [2:0 pm]_

_Okay, since you asked-_

_Me [2:50 pm]_

_If you haven’t noticed already, especially given the whole_

_Me [2:50 pm]_

_You know_

_Me [2:50 pm]_

_Invasion of the Body Snatchers thing_

_Me [2:50 pm]_

_Itomori is a bit more on the magical side. It’s something about the mountain._

_Me [2:50 pm]_

_Anyway_

_Me [2:51 pm]_

_Because of that, Itomori has a lot of holy sites, one of which being the main shrine where the Takamakis practice, but there’s a lot of little shrines all over too._

_Me [2:52 pm]_

_Well, I found Mona when I was little, and I thought he was just a kitten until he started talking to me, and then he….. kinda? explained that he was actually a spirit guide that had traveled through one of the torii gates here and got lost._

_Me [2:52 pm]_

_Now he says he’s decided to stay here and watch over our family because we’re ‘clumsy living humans he needs to protect from killing ourselves’ ._

_Me [2:52 pm]_

_He says he was human once himself, but honestly…. He’s way too cat-like for me to fully believe that._

_Me [2:52 pm]_

_But yeah, that’s the story of my magical, sassy, talking cat. That’s really just about it._

 

There was a brief pause between Akira’s torrent of texts, and he was worried that he’d gone overboard, until a new message pinged in and popped his bubble of anxiety.

 

**_Unknown [2:54 pm]_ **

**_Morgana decided to fill me in a bit more on what you described, though with admittedly more gusto._ **

**_Unknown [2:54 pm]_ **

**_Despite his own brand of sarcasm, he’s rather sweet, isn’t he?_ **

**_Unknown [2:54 pm]_ **

**_He does seem to love your family quite a lot._ **

 

Akira was gripped by a fierce burst of affection for the cat that quickly turned to an ache of longing, feeling out of place without Morgana by his side.

 

**_Unknown [2:54 pm]_ **

**_On another note_ **

**_Unknown [2:55 pm]_ **

**_For a spirit guide, he has a surprisingly foul mouth at times._ **

**_Unknown [2:55 pm]_ **

**_Is he learning from Ryuuji?_ **

 

_Me [2:55 pm]_

_Oh god, don’t let him read that-_

_Me [2:55 pm]_

_He’ll have a conniption if he sees you compared him to Ryuuji_

 

Another pause.

 

**_Unknown [2:57 pm]_ **

**_Cat teeth are…. quite sharp._ **

**_Unknown [2:57 pm]_ **

**_I’m apparently learning many new things today._ **

 

_Me [2:57 pm]_

_Yusuke_

_Me [2:57 pm]_

_Oh my god_

 

**_Unknown [2:57 pm]_ **

**_Oh, don’t worry- nothing broke the skin!_ **

**_Unknown [2:57 pm]_ **

**_And he’s still in my lap as it is, and purring if the vibration is any indication._ **

**_Unknown [2:57 pm]_ **

**_He’s quite…_ **

**_Unknown [2:58 pm]_ **

**_What’s the word_ **

**_Unknown [2:58 pm]_ **

**_Tsundere, I believe it is?_ **

 

Akira’s air left him in a sudden rush of laughter.

 

_Me [2:58 pm]_

_I wasn’t expecting you of all people to pull THAT term out on me._

_Me [2:59 pm]_

_Futaba, maybe, considering how she devours manga._

 

**_Unknown [2:59 pm]_ **

**_I actually quite enjoy reading manga from time to time myself as well._ **

**_Unknown [2:59 pm]_ **

**_I like the study the differences in styles and genres._ **

 

Akira blinked, surprised, before smiling warmly.

 

_Me [2:59 pm]_

_Do you have a favorite genre?_

 

The reply was instant, obviously well-thought on and stored away.

 

**_Unknown [2:59 pm]_ **

**_I prefer slice-of-life over pure shounen, though there are a few here and there that I look to when I struggle with fluidity of character expression and motion._ **

**_Unknown [2:59 pm]_ **

**_I do also love the flowery and over-the-top nature of shoujo when I’m looking for assistance in background work._ **

 

_Me [2:59 pm]_

_Are you a secret romantic at heart, then?_

 

**_Unknown [3:00 pm]_ **

**_I suppose it isn’t a secret, as I rather enjoy observing relationships and attempting to convey that vivid emotion on a canvass._ **

**_Unknown [2:41 pm]_ **

**_Capturing the heart is a difficult, yet thrilling endeavor I have yet to fully reach._ **

 

A tiny worm of jealousy nibbled at Akira’s mind, and he quickly quieted the misplaced thought.

 

_Me [3:00 pm]_

_It sounds as if you have some experience, then._

 

**_Unknown [3:00 pm]_ **

**_Quite a bit, actually._ **

 

Akira’s heart sank, and he wanted to shake himself for being so _disappointed._

 

**_Unknown [3:00 pm]_ **

**_I must admit, it’s gotten me into some awkward situations-_ **

**_Unknown [3:00 pm]_ **

**_Love does come in many forms, and I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve accidentally assumed a relationship for something it actually wasn’t._ **

 

_Me [3:00 pm]_

_Huh?_

 

**_Unknown [3:00 pm]_ **

**_Oh, I’m going on a tangent, aren’t I?_ **

**_Unknown [3:00 pm]_ **

**_I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lose you._ **

 

_No, you didn’t, please don’t stop talking-_

 

_Me [3:01 pm]_

_No, that’s not it!_

_Me [3:01 pm]_

_I think I just confused myself._

_Me [3:01 pm]_

_What did you mean by assuming?_

 

**_Unknown [3:02 pm]_ **

**_Well, if you’re still curious…_ **

**_Unknown [3:02 pm]_ **

**_People-watching is by no means a perfect art, and sometimes I end up filling the blanks in a little wrong._ **

 

Akira read the words, paused, and then rested his head on the phone with a quiet groan as he realized his stupid mistake. _He wasn’t talking about his OWN relationships…. Why did I just assume that?_

 

_Me [3:02 pm]_

_I like to make it into a little game, though._

_Me [3:02 pm]_

_Sometimes Futaba joins in, and we essentially narrate what someone COULD be thinking as they live their life unknowingly._

_Me [3:02 pm]_

_It’s fun, except when we get caught staring…_

 

**_Unknown [3:02 pm]_ **

**_Oh!_ **

**_Unknown [3:03 pm]_ **

**_You like people-watching as well?_ **

**_Unknown [3:03 pm]_ **

**_Making it into a game…. Hm, I’d never thought of that. Perhaps I’m just more inclined to copy down what I see in front of me as opposed to writing the story instead._ **

 

_Me [3:03 pm]_

_Creativity just runs on different wavelengths depending on the person, I guess._

_Me [3:03 pm]_

_Like I can’t draw for shit, but photography just makes SENSE to me._

_Me [3:03 pm]_

_And Futaba is just an utter whiz when it comes to anything written, and I mean that in any form possible:_

_Me [3:03 pm]_

_Numbers, literature, coding, poetry, you name it-_

_Me [3:04 pm]_

_But she can’t read music at ALL._

 

**_Unknown [3:04 pm]_ **

**_Brains are odd creatures._ **

 

_Me [3:04 pm]_

_That’s a way to put it._

_Me [3:04 pm]_

_It’s just weird to me that someone can experience the same exact thing I do but just slightly differently._

_Me [3:04 pm]_

_Sorta the same way I feel about humans only having 3 cones in our eyes while mantis shrimp have 16._

_Me [3:04 pm]_

_I think Ryuuji’s exact reaction to that was “why can some ocean bug see more colors than I can?”_

 

**_Unknown [3:05 pm]_ **

**_That does certainly sounds like him…_ **

 

_Me [3:05 pm]_

_You learn quickly._

 

**_Unknown [3:05 pm]_ **

**_Well, my hand was forced in regards to that, no?_ **

 

Akira couldn’t help but laugh quietly at that, the sound sparkling in light blues around him. The sight made him pause, realizing he still had a question nudging at him curiously.

 

_Me [3:05 pm]_

_Hey, I forgot…_

_Me [3:05 pm]_

_I meant to ask this before, but I wasn’t really sure how to bring it up in a simple throwaway note._

 

**_Unknown [3:05 pm]_ **

**_What is it?_ **

 

_Me [3:05 pm]_

_Yusuke_

_Me [3:05 pm]_

_Do you… hear colors?_

_Me [3:05 pm]_

_Because sometimes I see the faintest bit of it and I’m not sure if it’s the body swapping or something else._

 

A beat of silence fell that felt like an _eon._

 

**_Unknown [3:06 pm]_ **

**_You can see them too?_ **

 

_Me [3:06 pm]_

_I guess??_

 

**_Unknown [3:06 pm]_ **

**_That’s peculiar._ **

**_Unknown [3:06 pm]_ **

**_What exactly do you see?_ **

 

_Me [3:06 pm]_

_Uh_

_Me [3:06 pm]_

_Well_

_Me [3:06 pm]_

_Some sounds give me like… washed out colors, kinda?_

_Me [3:07 pm]_

_Like voices_

_Me [3:07 pm]_

_Madarame’s kinda a weird yellow? And cars are a blue, I think_

_Me [3:07 pm]_

_But it’s all so faint that I’m not completely sure._

 

**_Unknown [3:07 pm]_ **

**_So you still see them, but they’re diluted?_ **

 

_Me [3:07 pm]_

_Yeah, that’s a good way of describing it._

_Me [3:07 pm]_

_Does this mean you DO see colors?_

 

**_Unknown [3:07 pm]_ **

**_Yes._ **

**_Unknown [3:08 pm]_ **

**_I’m a synesthete, and have been since as long as I can remember._ **

**_Unknown [3:08 pm]_ **

**_I don’t typically tell people, however, just because of the stigma around it._ **

**_Unknown [3:08 pm]_ **

**_I had absolutely no idea that you’d be affected by it too._ **

 

 _(‘Synesthete’- ‘synesthesia’, greek for ‘together’ and ‘senses’,_ Akira’s mind tiredly conjugated from the depths of his language lesson. He scrunched his nose as the potency of the memory.)

 

_Me [3:08 pm]_

_Why do you think I can see them, when I’m not the one with the condition?_

_Me [3:08 pm]_

_That’s a bit weird._

 

**_Unknown [3:08 pm]_ **

**_I’m not entirely sure-_ **

**_Unknown [3:08 pm]_ **

**_Maybe it’s a muscle memory kind of reaction, since you’re in my physical afflicted body without the memories?_ **

**_Unknown [3:08 pm]_ **

**_It’s a fascinating concept, however._ **

 

Akira was amazed by how casual his words were, talking about how Akira was constantly saturated in a world of color he’d never experience as a second-hand reaction. Though, if he _had_ been able to see colors since he was young, Akira supposed his desensitization toward it made sense.

 

_Me [3:09 pm]_

_What kinds of colors do you prefer to focus on, then? Coming from someone with a non-colorful brain._

 

**_Unknown [3:09 pm]_ **

**_That’s an interesting question._ **

 

_Me [3:09 pm]_

_I don’t mean to overstep any boundaries- if you’re uncomfortable with it, you don’t need to answer._

_Me [3:09 pm]_

_I have a thousand other questions as it is._

 

**_Unknown [3:09 pm]_ **

**_Oh, no, that’s not it._ **

**_Unknown [3:09 pm]_ **

**_Perhaps I’m just used to Sensei’s reaction to it, but no one’s ever shown interest in it before._ **

**_Unknown [3:09 pm]_ **

**_I guess my favorite kinds would be the sounds of people’s voices, shifting to reflect whatever emotion they’re conveying._ **

**_Unknown [3:09 pm]_ **

**_Music is wonderful too, though I’m rather picky when it comes to that._ **

 

_Me [3:09 pm]_

_Is that why your alarm is piano music instead of a ringtone?_

 

**_Unknown [3:10 pm]_ **

**_Precisely! You catch on quickly._ **

**_Unknown [3:10pm]_ **

**_Yes, I hate the color of certain sounds, with loud, jarring noises being the most frustrating._ **

**_Unknown [3:10 pm]_ **

**_Though I’m not fond of the sound of machinery either._ **

 

_Me [3:10 pm]_

_Well, then why don’t you tell me about the sounds you DO like?_

_Me [3:10 pm]_

_What are the voices you’ve heard that you remember?_

 

**_Unknown [3:10 pm]_ **

**_Futaba’s comes to mind rather quickly._ **

**_Unknown [3:10 pm]_ **

**_I’ve never met anyone who’s spoken in neons before._ **

 

_Me [3:11 pm]_

_You know what_

_Me [3:11 pm]_

_That doesn’t really surprise me, knowing her._

 

**_Unknown [3:11 pm]_ **

**_It is a tad disconcerting when she yells, which happens to be rather frequently from what I’ve noticed._ **

**_Unknown [3:11 pm]_ **

**_I’m just thankful Ryuuji isn’t neons._ **

**_Unknown [3:11 pm]_ **

**_I think I’d have a constant headache then…._ **

 

Akira snickered.

 

_Me [3:11 pm]_

_What color is he instead?_

 

**_Unknown [3:11 pm]_ **

**_Mm, it varies:_ **

**_Unknown [3:12 pm]_ **

**_Anywhere between green to gold, I guess._ **

**_Unknown [3:12 pm]_ **

**_He’s the same colors as the cicadas._ **

 

_Me [3:12 pm]_

_Really??_

_Me [3:12 pm]_

_That’s actually pretty interesting._

 

**_Unknown [3:12 pm]_ **

**_You find it interesting?_ **

 

_Me [3:12 pm]_

_Why wouldn’t I?_

 

**_Unknown [3:12 pm]_ **

**_Well, for the longest time I thought it was normal until I was told otherwise, and from then on I assumed something was just wrong with me._ **

**_Unknown [3:12 pm]_ **

**_Now, though, it’s so second nature that only new sounds with unique colors catch my attention._ **

**_Unknown [3:12 pm]_ **

**_Did you know the rain here sounds different than Tokyo rain? I’ve always guessed that it was because of the city feedback, but it’s less gray and more silver._ **

**_Unknown [3:12 pm]_ **

**_It’s relaxing._ **

**_Unknown [3:13 pm]_ **

**_...I’m on another tangent again, aren’t I?_ **

 

_Me [3:13 pm]_

_Yes, but it doesn’t bother me._

_Me [3:13 pm]_

_I like being able to see how you think._

 

**_Unknown [3:13 pm]_ **

**_I don’t think anybody’s ever said that to me before._ **

 

Akira’s smile slipped, heart twinging.

 

**_Unknown [3:13 pm]_ **

**_Thank you._ **

**_Unknown [3:13 pm]_ **

**_I rather enjoy talking with you._ **

**_Unknown [3:13 pm]_ **

**_You listen to me._ **

 

Another question rose to the forefront of Akira’s mind, but this was a restless fishbone of a thought that had been haunting him since earlier that morning; his stomach felt full of eels as he typed out the next question carefully.

 

_Me [3:13 pm]_

_Do you want to try that again?_

_Me [3:13 pm]_

_Calling?_

 

 _Yes,_ he wanted to hear him talk, even if he was borrowing a voice, but there was something so _real_ about him when he could hear every hitch and pause and hum as the thoughts processed.

 

**_Unknown [3:13 pm]_ **

**_I_ **

**_Unknown [3:13 pm]_ **

**_I don’t think we should._ **

**_Unknown [3:13 pm]_ **

**_Not right now, at least._ **

 

Akira felt himself deflate, cold and awkward.

 

**_Unknown [3:14 pm]_ **

**_I think we should wait until we’re in our own bodies before we try again._ **

 

He shut his eyes with a sigh of relief.

 

_Me [3:14 pm]_

_That’s a good idea._

_Me [3:14 pm]_

_I think Futaba would try and jump you again as it is._

 

**_Unknown [3:14 pm]_ **

**_Very true._ **

**_Unknown [3:14 pm]_ **

**_I’d like to hear your voice properly as it was; I’m sure my use of it is a poor caricature at best._ **

 

For some reason, Akira felt his ears go pink.

 

_Me [3:14 pm]_

_I’d like that too._

_Me [3:14 pm]_

_Well, not the caricature part, but I think you get what I mean._

 

**_Unknown [3:14  pm]_ **

**_Shall we set aside a time then, the next time we’re both in permissible situations?_ **

 

_Me [3:15 pm]_

_Sounds like a plan._

_Me [3:15 pm]_

_I’ve still got so many things I’d like to talk to you about._

 

**_Unknown [3:15 pm]_ **

**_The feeling is mutual._ **

**_Unknown [3:15 pm]_ **

**_Even though it feels as if we’ve known each other for so long…_ **

**_Unknown [3:15 pm]_ **

**_I don’t want to stop talking to you._ **

 

 _Me neither,_ was Akira’s immediate response, and the pink of his ears spread onto his face as Yusuke’s bluntness caught him off guard for the umpteenth time.

 

_Me [3:15 pm]_

_It’s not as if I’ll be going anywhere._

 

**_Unknown [3:15  pm]_ **

**_I’m glad._ **

**_Unknown [3:15 pm]_ **

**_Is it strange of me to say that I’m glad this happened to us given the odd circumstances?_ **

 

And just like that, the mood shifted and Akira was laughing again, muffling it in his palm.

 

_Me [3:15 pm]_

_To normal people, I suppose, but not to me._

 

Three dots popped up, winking as Yusuke typed something out, only to pause and disappear for a moment before a different message came in.

**_Unknown [3:16 pm]_ **

**_Oh, I’m being summoned by Sojiro._ **

**_Unknown [3:16 pm]_ **

**_I think someone’s waiting for me?_ **

 

Akira sighed sharply before typing out a reply.

 

_Me [3:16 pm]_

_It’s the day before finals, so it’s probably Ryuuji panicking last minute._

 

**_Unknown [3:16 pm]_ **

**_I’m both impressed by your accuracy and also distressed by the realization that I’ll have to help him study._ **

**_Unknown [3:16 pm]_ **

**_I don’t think I’m nearly qualified to assist him on material I haven’t learned in full._ **

 

Akira cracked a smile.

 

_Me [3:16 pm]_

_Trust me, you’ll be perfectly fine._

_Me [3:16 pm]_

_Ryuuji learns a bit differently, so straight academics goes over his head._

_Me [3:16 pm]_

_Just focus on being more literal with the explanation and you should be okay._

 

**_Unknown [3:17 pm]_ **

**_Okay, I think I can do that._ **

 

_Me [3:17 pm]_

_You’ll be okay! Hopefully you won’t be the one taking my first final, but do some studying osmosis for me!_

 

**_Unknown [3:17 pm]_ **

**_I don’t think that’s how osmosis works…_ **

 

_Me [3:17 pm]_

_Don’t worry about it._

_Me [3:17 pm]_

_So, I’ll talk with you later?_

 

**_Unknown [3:17 pm]_ **

**_Most definitely._ **

 

_Me [3:17 pm]_

_I’ll be here anytime you need me, okay? I mean it._

_Me [3:17 pm]_

_Now go keep my legacy as a human encyclopedia!_

 

**_Unknown [3:17 pm]_ **

**_I shall do my best._ **

**_Unknown [3:17 pm]_ **

**_And Akira?_ **

**_Unknown [3:18 pm]_ **

**_Thank you, for everything._ **

 

He blinked.

 

_Me [3:18 pm]_

_Of course._

_Me [3:18 pm]_

_Take care of yourself, okay?_

 

There was no response to that, and Akira figured he’d had to move away from the phone. He sighed, settling his head back against the wood of the door and scrubbing his hands through his hair. He hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t want to stop talking, wanting to talk about everything and nothing until it had all been said, no more reading between the lines when it was all in the open.

 

He guessed it was already on its way to that just through the nature of their relationship, but there was no denying that unusual tug Yusuke had on Akira’s heartstrings.

 

 _(‘Musubi,’_ Ann’s grandmother had told him as they all wound braided cords together, _‘is the magic of interconnections.’)_

 

Akira slid down completely onto his was on his back, groaning into the hands he shifted to press against his cheeks; they were still flushed.

(He tried not to categorize the knowing feeling, hoping it was just some side-effect of their situation.)

“Fuck.”

 

***

 

_Do you know what Madarame’s hiding? Why do you stay?_

 

_What were your parents like?_

 

_What’s your favorite color?_

 

_What kinds of things do you like to paint?_

 

_Do you think you’ll still remember me even when we stop switching?_

 

_Why does no one want to talk to you?_

 

 _What color is my voice? Do you_ **_like_ ** _the color?_

 

_Why you?_

 

**_Why YOU?_ **

 

(An uncontrollable torrent of questions, trapped in a thundering sixteenth-beat of a restless mind; too many to count, too volatile to write down, too fragile to speak aloud.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just love loopholes? (Yes- no time slip means they can still call each other!) And yes, Futaba's lack of a 'what the fuck do you mean you aren't Akira' will be explained next chapter!  
> Thank you for reading!! Comments and questions greatly appreciated!
> 
> Next chapter:  
> Tanabata, the origin of family legends, final exams, and pesky siblings
> 
> (*From now on, any texting/other messages will be with Akira italicized and Yusuke bolded)


	5. Ambedo (III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fireworks, an old story, (found), family- the calm before the storm perched upon the edge before disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I didn't keep you guys waiting too long! Here's the last chapter of Ambedo- thanks for sticking with me! 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing the Tanabata scene, as well as the particular brand of Sakura-sass that's just so.... wonderful  
> And!! The Itomori squad DID manage to slip in right at the last minute- they apparently decided to have a quick hello before school ended (so thankfully I don't have to write anymore class time because writing school SUCKS) 
> 
> Anyway, enough rambling- I hope you enjoy the last of Ambedo!  
> (I hope it isn't too underwhelming....)

It only took two minutes after Akira had woken up in his own body for Futaba to jump him, shoving the door open and seating herself heavily on his futon despite Morgana’s shriek of complaint. The questions came next, rattled off one after the other in a dizzying torrent, and the first thought Akira could form in his bleary mind was  _ I pity Yusuke being blinded by her neons.  _

 

_ “Akira,  _ answer me! You’re just staring at the floor!” Futaba complained, poking him in the leg. “I’ve been waiting  _ forever  _ to see if you’d switch too, and you’re depriving me of living it out vicariously!” 

 

“Why’re you so  _ loud?  _ I have t’get ready for school,” he mumbled, dragging his hands down his face; his eyes burned from sleep, so he kept them shut against the morning light. He reached for the familiar form of his glasses, squeezing the plastic in his hands before sliding them on, eyes still shut. 

 

She groaned, and he felt her lean back. “So  _ boring,”  _ she huffed, and he cracked a faint smile. 

 

_ “I  _ still have my finals to pass,” he retorted, and she flopped backward onto the bed with yet another- yet somehow  _ louder-  _ groan. “Wait ‘til I’m more awake, okay? We were swapped for two days, so ‘m still a bit disoriented.” 

 

She kicked her legs like a toddler throwing a tantrum, violently jostling the bed. “Ugh, stop, Futaba, before I bite you,” Morgana called, staring over at her from where he was attempting to remain wrapped in the residual warmth of the blanket. “It’s bad enough with his hideous alarm waking me up every morning, so I don’t need two of them, thank you.” 

 

Still lying flat on her back, Futaba gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest; Akira rolled his eyes. “Are you insinuating I’m  _ annoying?”  _ she asked, mock question in her tone. “Well, then I need to try harder if you’re not saying it outright.” 

 

“Play nice, you two,” Akira warned, but it was warm as he slid out of his covers to stretch loudly, wincing when his shoulder popped. He rubbed at it, confused at it being sore.  _ Did I sleep on it wrong?  _ He shook the thought off as he hunted for his uniform. 

 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for your alarm to go off? Because it was  _ shameful  _ how long I was out there.” 

 

“You have the sleep schedule of someone who swings violently from being the living dead to a gremlin who doesn’t sleep until  _ after  _ the sun’s risen.” 

 

Akira snorted violently when Futaba let out a noise of indignation, pausing when he found the familiar pattern of his uniform pants folded with the rest of the outfit and placed neatly in his chair. When he pulled out the chair, a small note placed gingerly on top was exposed, waiting for him: 

 

_ Akira-  _

 

_ Thank you for your time last evening; it was soothing having someone listen to my tangents without admonishment. I hope I also provided you with some level of ease regarding our recent situation, and I truly hope to speak again soon.  _

 

_ -Yusuke _

_ (P.S. You’re quite lucky to have the family you do- they’re all such genuinely kind people, and Futaba seems to have taken an odd and slightly abusive liking to me….)  _

 

“Oi, what’s that? You’ve got a really dumb smile on your face,” Futaba called, and Akira flinched, fingers twitching around the paper in his hand. He let his face drop into neutrality, looking at her curiously, while his mind whirled on the thought of  _ I didn’t even realize I was smiling.  _

 

“Just a note,” he said, waving it casually, before folding it carefully and scooping up the rest of his uniform. 

 

Futaba gasped theatrically, lurching up from her seat to stare at him widely. “When did he write that? The little bastard ninja, waiting until I was gone to do it-” 

 

“”Bastard ninja’?” Akira interrupted, a smirk quirking his lips as his free hand propped on his hip in a fist. “Really? Couldn't think of anything better?” 

 

She waved him off with a disgruntled noise. “You’re not the only one who’s tired,” she said, and he huffed a laugh. “However,  _ I’m  _ the only one who with the true skill of simply ignoring the pull of sleep!”

 

“Uh-huh, okay,” he said, voice drifting off into the corners of his room as he disappeared toward the bathroom, “so I won’t find you passed out once I get back from school because you stayed up all night waiting, right?” 

 

“No, because we have  _ coffee!”  _

 

Akira laughed fully then, the sound rising and bubbling in time to his mind slowly bubbling awake. “Mona, make sure she doesn’t poison herself before we leave, okay?” 

 

“Aye-aye, though I can’t guarantee after we’re gone,” Morgana called tiredly, and from the irritated noise he let out, Akira figured Futaba must’ve tackled him. He smiled to himself before turning toward the mirror, pausing when he caught his reflection in it. 

 

There was something odd to seeing his own face after two days of Yusuke’s eyes burnt into him, and he abruptly shook off the thought before he allowed the train of thought to derail any further. 

 

Padding back into the main room only led to Futaba latching onto his back, arms tight around his neck as she demanded an answer. Akira, however, pretended he wasn’t being choked to death as he rifled through his school bag, a pained yet still amused smile on his face. “Come  _ on,  _ tell me what it’s like! I need to  _ know!”  _

 

“You know, I  _ could  _ just refuse to tell you,” he said coolly, the smile only widening as she whined loudly in his ear and slid off of his back. “You  _ did _ kinda bully him as it was.” 

 

“Wha- I  _ did not!”  _ she shot back, and he turned to look at her, leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed. “I don’t know what he told you, but whatever it was- he’s  _ lying!”  _

 

Akira’s eyebrow rose. Futaba pouted. 

 

“Okay fine, maybe I teased him a  _ little.”  _

 

“Uh-huh,” Akira drawled, slowly enough for Futaba to fill in the blank he carefully left open. 

 

She sighed, flopping back down on his bed. “I just had to break him in a bit, you know? To make sure he was comfortable bein’ an honorary Sakura and all that.” 

 

_ To make sure he was comfortable.  _ Akira’s eyes widened, the smile warming into one that made his chest buzz pleasantly. 

 

“Oh, so  _ that’s  _ what she calls it,” Morgana chimed in, his tone bitter despite the fact that he’d curled up in Futaba’s lap. She poked him in the cheek, and he batted her hand away. 

 

“Thank you,” Akira heard himself say, ignoring the urge to narrow his eyebrows at himself. 

 

Morgana looked up with a faintly disgusted expression on his face. “You’re  _ thanking  _ her for being annoying?” 

 

Akira shook his head, smile going tight-lipped as he turned away from them to pluck the notebook he needed for today out, flipping through it.  _ “Oh,  _ I get it,” Futaba crowed, and Akira wasn’t sure he liked how her tone went sickly-sweet. “I can be  _ much  _ more obnoxious with him if you’d like.” 

 

He didn’t respond, as his attention was stolen away by a drawing on the back of his last page of notes: 

 

A pair of perfectly-sketched eyes, lovingly shaded and piercingly gray as they stared at the viewer with a challenge proposed-

**_My_ ** _ eyes.  _

 

A few other and much smaller and messier sketches littered the page that Akira recognized as Ryuuji, but it was clear that the main focus wasn’t on him. 

 

Akira’s heart twisted, sharp and warm. 

 

“What’cha lookin’ at?” came Futaba’s voice from over his shoulder, and it took every nerve in his body to resist jumping. 

 

He snapped the book shut, dropping it into his bag. “Just my notes for today’s exam,” he said smoothly, and he felt Morgana hop onto his other shoulder. 

 

“Oh, that’s right- you’ve got math today, right?” he asked, tail swishing lightly against his back. “Ryuuji was panicking yesterday about it.” 

 

“Yeah, Yusuke told me,” Akira said, stroking a finger underneath Morgana’s chin, pleased at the purr he earned. He hadn’t been lying when he realized how much he missed Morgana’s familiar weight, the feeling of his paws pressed into his collarbone and his fur warm by his cheek. 

 

“Ooh, first names already,” Futaba teased, and Akira rolled his eyes, knowing she was just teasing him for the sake of it. 

 

“Like you didn’t already know,” he said, scooping up his bag and heading out of the room, hearing her follow him. “It took him forever to break the formality, though.” 

 

“He  _ is  _ a stickler for honorifics, I noticed,” she said dryly, and he laughed, caught off-guard and bright. “Sooooo do I get to see a picture of him or what? ‘Cause the only thing  _ I  _ got was that god-awful school ID.” 

 

Akira sighed as they reached the kitchen, feeling Morgana move from his shoulder to nestle in his school bag as he set it onto the countertop. “I thought about trying to send one, but something doesn’t let us send photos back and forth, and photo calls just short out immediately,” he said, deciding not to mention Yusuke’s utter lack of photos regarding himself. 

Or how quickly Akira had immediately tried sending  _ himself _ photos and had been deeply disappointed when the application kicked him out. 

(He figured he best spare himself any more shame.) 

  
  


“Well, I think the latter issue is ‘cause of his shitty phone,” she said, perched at the counter and watching him as he dug around in the fridge, “but I think the rest is a bunch of magical hanky-panky. You know, of the Mona kind.” 

 

“I heard that!” came the reply from Akira’s bag, and he couldn’t help but snort. 

 

“Kinda the point,” she added, snickering when a pair of displeased ears flattened against an unseen head. “Oh! Maybe I should just ask Inari to  _ draw _ us a picture of himself!” 

 

Akira frowned, thinking back, before he shut the fridge door with a hum. “That might work, but I don’t remember seeing any kind of self portraits in any of his stuff,” he said, peeling absently at the clementine he’d extricated. 

 

Futaba perked up, palms pounding excitedly on the countertop. “You looked at his  _ stuff?  _ What’d you see, what’d you _ see?  _ Anything kinky I need to know about?” she rattled off, and Akira was pinned by her words, blinking at her. 

 

_ People, places. He likes the niches, the open, capturing things in the moment and preserving that second in time.  _

_ Abstract, feelings, knowing the unknowable, gray-scale with faint touches of color somehow perfectly fitting that perfect second of emotion.  _

 

Something clicked in his mind, the realization nearly making him gasp. 

_ Exactly like taking a photo.  _

 

“Dude, you’re staring blankly at your orange,” Futaba said flatly, and his head snapped up to meet her eye. 

 

“He likes doing people studies and abstract stuff,” he said calmly, peeling a section of the clementine out and popping it casually into his mouth.  

 

She squinted, watching him, before deflating dramatically. “Damn, I was hoping for something weird I could use against him,” she complained, and he shook his head with a laugh as she dropped her face into her arms. “What, no naked people?  _ Nothing?”  _

 

He hummed, thinking back to one spread. “I mean yeah, he did a section of nude studies, but it wasn’t as if it was sexual like you’re thinking.”  _ Faces uncertain, male and female, focused purely on line composition and shapes- notes and arrows here and there, comments precise and focused.  _

 

She looked up at him with a flat look on her face. “He’s really just got art on the brain then, huh?” Akira shrugged. “Ugh, come on, I wanted something  _ juicy,  _ something interesting! I mean hey, sketchbooks are kinda like my mainframes, right? All personal and close to the heart! I think I’d  _ die  _ if- and I say  _ if, _ ‘cause it ain’t ever happening- someone broke into my stuff.” 

 

“What, scared about someone seeing your massive stash of tentacle porn?” Akira deadpanned, perfectly monotone, forcing himself to keep the straight face as she glared at him with her jaw agape. 

 

_ “No,  _ you massive fucking perv! As if!” 

 

“What was it you said? ‘Denial is only the second stage of confirmation’?” Akira parroted, facade breaking as she turned maroon. 

 

“Don’t use my words against me, dammit! Come  _ here-!”  _ she screeched as she laughed across the counter, crashing onto the floor as Akira gracefully side-stepped her and reached for his bag.  _ “Ow-”  _

 

_ “Bye, _ Futaba,” he called cheekily, saluting her as he headed for the front door. 

 

“You’re not leaving until you give me the deets about body swapping, you shit! Get  _ back  _ here!” She hooked her fingers around the door, keeping him from shutting it, and he looked through the crack to see a pair of eyes staring at him. 

 

“You’re gonna be late,” Morgana murmured, but Akira ignored him in favor of raising an eyebrow at Futaba. 

 

“Exams shouldn’t take too long, so I’ll tell you after I get back, okay?” 

 

She squinted, before huffing and releasing the door. “You  _ promise,  _ right?” 

 

He placed a hand over his heart and half-bowed. “On my honor as your pro-bono brother,” he replied, and she swatted him. 

 

“Don’t talk as if you hate it,” she retorted, but there was no heat in her words. “Now get to school before you’re late!” 

 

“Will do,” he said, “and don’t let Sojiro see your hentai while I’m out!” 

 

_ “Jerk!”  _

 

_ “Love you too!”  _

 

“You two are ridiculous,” Morgana muttered, but there was fondness lining the syllables of his complaint. 

 

Akira couldn’t help but smile at that. 

 

\-------

 

Exams were- as expected- frustrating and long-winded, though he worked through problems as neatly as he could and resisted the urge to laugh when he saw Ann put her head on her desk and mouth a  _ help me  _ to Shiho beside her. 

 

The walk home from school with the others was a mess of exhaustion and complaints, spare Shiho and Akira who gave each other quiet, knowing looks. “Man, it’s only day one of four and I already know I’m screwed,” Ryuuji complained, leaning heavily onto Akira’s shoulder as he moped, face buried in his shirt. 

 

“I think I’ll be okay once we get to other subjects, but  _ damn,  _ that math took a lot out of me,” Ann added, fanning herself against the heat of the sun overhead. 

 

“Usami-san  _ did  _ tell us exactly which sections we needed to study,” Shiho said gently, giggling when Ann let out a disgusted noise. 

 

“Even  _ with  _ all that I still struggled,” she said dryly, and Ryuuji snorted, She cracked open an eye and aimed a kick at him, nailing him right in the side hard enough to jar both him as well as Akira. “Like you have  _ any  _ right to laugh, Ryuuji!” 

 

“Shiho, keep your girl in check!” he grumbled, and Shiho grinned, tugging Ann toward her while Akira carefully shuffled Ryuuji to his other shoulder, tucking his arm around Ryuuji’s to keep him from moving. 

 

“Jeez, the fact that the two of you need  _ retainers  _ to keep from fighting is so weird,” Morgana piped up, emerging from the bag to sit on the shoulder opposite of where Ryuuji was leaning, and Akira could feel his tail sweeping over his back to nudge at Ryuuji’s face. “Stupid humans.” 

 

“You talk as if you weren’t one yourself, Mona-chan,” Shiho said, and Morgana froze, thinking, before puffing out his chest. 

 

“I  _ obviously  _ mean  _ living,  _ you know? And now I’ve transcended mere human status, so of course I’m better than you!” 

 

“Okay, Mona,” Ann snickered, and Morgana looked positively  _ wounded.  _

 

“I could  _ never  _ mean you, Lady Ann! After all, you’re a level of radiant I’ve never experienced in my lifetime-!” 

 

“Careful, Morgana, she’s a taken woman,” Akira gently chided, and Morgana let out a noise of discontent and realization as Ann laughed hysterically, looping her arm through Shiho’s. 

 

“What was that about being better than humans, ‘specially when you  _ lost  _ to one?” Ryuuji added, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

 

“Shut it, you rhino,” Morgana quipped, and Akira laughed at Ryuuji’s insulted expression. “At least Shiho is a  _ fine  _ suitor; not like she’s dating  _ you _ or something,” he added pointedly, scowling at Ryuuji. 

 

The rather eloquent response to Morgana was a combination of disgust and laughter, with Ryuuji and Ann being the former reaction. 

 

“Oh  _ god  _ no,” Ann forced out, and Akira bit his lip, looking back out toward the road at the sound of a car coming down from the hill. 

 

“What, am I  _ that  _ bad?” Ryuuji questioned, insulted, and Ann snorted. 

 

“Do I even need to answer that?” 

 

_ “Hey!”  _

 

Akira chuckled to himself, hearing the banter continue beside him as he shifted his focus to watching the ground change beneath his feet, changing between earth and concrete just as the sky was changing between night and day, slowly turning the world amber. He could still hear the others, but their words seemed distant, not directed toward him, with something feeling slightly off about them-

Until he realized their lack of color, only pure and solid shapes of  _ noise _ in his ears. 

 

_ I miss Yusuke’s colors. _

 

He blinked, surprised by the realization, and Ann caught the shift. “Hey, what are you spacing out about over there? If anyone had something to add to this conversation, I most  _ definitely  _ thought it’d be you,” she said, and he looked over to her. 

 

“Ooh, are you in one of your weird spacey modes?” Ryuuji asked, poking at him. “Gonna go off about the ‘color composition of the countryside’ again?” 

 

_ Oh, Yusuke,  _ Akira thought, barely suppressing a fond laugh as he shook his head. “Nah, just thinking. I’m a bit tired after that exam, though,” he replied, before turning to Ryuuji with a cheeky grin, “not that  _ you  _ can relate, since I know most of your exam was spent with your head on your desk instead of  _ working.”  _

 

“Ouch, that one’s gotta sting,” Morgana announced dramatically as Ryuuji gaped at him in time to the explosion of laughter from the girls, and Akira wished he could see what color it all  _ sounded  _ like. 

 

***

 

The banter continued all the way up the hill, with the others planning on returning for a group study session over curry- Akira’s suggestion, using it as an incentive to focus- after Ann finished with her shrine duties for the day. 

 

The conversation was abruptly interrupted when the front door of the Sakura house opened before Akira could bother unlocking, frozen when the sight of a glaring Futaba emerged from behind it. “You’re  _ late,  _ dammit!” she accused, and he sighed. 

 

“Futaba-” 

 

“You still have to tell me, even if I need to force it out of you!” 

 

“Tell you what?” Ryuuji asked, and Akira gave her a flat look; she stared defiantly back, hands on her hips. 

 

_ “Things,”  _ Futaba emphasized, before Akira’s flat expression shifted into one of pleading as he caught Ann and Shiho’s curious expressions from the corner of his eye, the former’s much more  _ knowing.  _

 

“I’ll see you guys in a bit, alright?” Akira shifted, waving them off before fixing Futaba’s shit-eating grin with a sharp glare as they started to whisper-bicker, Akira shutting the door much louder than needed. 

 

Ryuuji gave the others a stupefied expression, thumbs hooking into his pockets as he leaned back. “The fuck was that?” 

 

“Well, I have what I  _ hope  _ it is,” Ann replied, a dangerous smile on her face, and Shiho lightly swatted her. 

 

“He’ll tell us eventually, knowing him, so let’s just get you home before your mother starts to worry,” she shifted, and Ann groaned. 

 

“Can’t you just let me slack off this once?” she complained, and Shiho chuckled, gently tugging her toward the direction of the stairs. “Ugh,  _ fine, _ I’ll take that as a no. Bye, then, Ryuuji!”

 

“See y’all in a bit!” Ryuuji called, heading in the opposite direction toward the small house he shared with his mother. 

 

As of late, it wasn’t an uncommon thing to see Akira acting strangely, a shared thought between the three, but even they could tell something had shifted- 

 

After all,  _ Futaba  _ knew, which certainly meant something momentous. 

 

*** 

 

“That’s it?” 

 

“Yep, that’s it.” 

 

“And you told me  _ everything?  _ No skipping details because I’m annoying?” 

 

“Nope.” 

 

“Are you  _ sure?”  _

 

“Yes, Futaba, I’m sure.” 

 

“Well then, I have one thing to say- holy  _ shit.”  _

 

(A laugh.) “That’s definitely a sentiment I share.” 

 

“I mean, we’ve heard the story a million times over, but it’s completely different actually  _ experiencing  _ it!” 

 

“I- well, technically it’s just me, but you aren’t…. wrong. There was always that tiny part of me that didn’t really believe Sojiro’s story, but now….” 

 

“Are you bothered by it?” 

 

(Akira paused, thinking, parsing, turning the words over in his head in an attempt to fully explain how he felt about it.) “Yes and no.” 

 

“Explain!” 

 

“Well…. I’m frustrated by the situation as a whole, because he’s in a shitty circumstance I can’t help with and I can’t even- I don’t know- see him? Touch him? So there are times where I’m just convinced it’s one big dream and I’m going to wake up and he’ll be  _ gone.”  _

 

“Akira…” 

 

“But being able to talk with him helps combat that, and I’m thankful for it; I think I’d go insane like Sojiro did with their letters failing.” 

 

“See, I  _ was _ helpful!” 

 

“Yeah, yeah, you were.” 

 

“And now that _ I _ know, it’ll even harder for him to be forgotten, right? I  _ refuse _ to forget!” 

 

“...I hope so.” 

 

“It’ll be okay, bro, don’t worry. ‘Sides…. you’re gonna tell Sojiro, right? Maybe he can help?” 

 

(A sigh.) “I’ve been debating that, actually. I didn’t really want to tell anyone just for fear of what they’d say, but now that you and Mona know, I guess it can’t hurt.” 

 

_ “Yes,  _ alright! When are you gonna do it? Is it gonna be on Sunday, just for sake of tradition?” 

 

“Maybe? I guess if the timing’s right.” 

 

“Hey, don’t look so sad- everything will be okay, I  _ promise.”  _

 

“I hope so.” 

 

“It  _ will,  _ ‘cause we’ll be with you! It’ll work out in the end- it  _ has  _ to.” 

 

(Akira blew out a deep breath, eyes skipping toward the window to watch as the sun began to set fully, sky balanced between night and day on the thin sliver of the mountains.) “I hope it does.” 

 

\---- 

 

_ Tanabata, one month before comet impact.  _

  
  


_ “Sojiro,  _ hurry up, or we’re gonna lose our spot!” 

 

“Wha-  _ hey,  _ slow down, kiddo!” 

 

Futaba ignored him in favor of sprinting ahead for their regular firework-watching spot, and Akira watched as her emerald _yukata-_ clad form wove its way through the hubbub of the crowd in front of them. Sojiro sighed before it melted into a chuckle, looking over at Akira, who only shrugged. _(Tanabata_ was one of the few times Futaba could blend into a crowd without melting into hysteria, and Morgana suggested that it was the spirits gathering that shifted her behaviour; Akira just thought it was because she was so familiar with its location, but perhaps it was a blend of both.)

 

They found her a few minutes later lounging on the blanket she’d already spread out, fiddling with her phone, and Akira knelt down in front of her to tap at her knee. She looked up, cocking an eyebrow, before crossing her arms. “Well, you guys only took  _ forever!”  _

 

“Like anyone was gonna take our spot,” Sojiro mumbled, settling down with the bag of food they’d brought with them. 

 

“Yeah, but if they did, you can  _ bet  _ I would scratch them!” Morgana added, eyes blazing from where he was perched on Akira’s shoulder. 

 

Sojiro laughed, leaning over to scratch at Morgana’s ears. “See, even the little guy seems to agree, if his meowing was any indication,” he said, and Akira bit back a smile when Morgana’s expression shifted into one of irritation. 

 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get some squid in a moment,” Akira placated, and Morgana perked up. 

 

“For real?” he asked, and Akira nodding, giving him the incentive to jump off of him and paw at the bag. Futaba and Akira rolled their eyes. 

 

While Morgana begged Sojiro to open the bag, Akira looked skyward, enamored by the navy ink of the night above them just as he was every year. By now, the only lights around them were those of either the street vendors or the fireflies, with every house now only light by candlelight so that the stars wouldn’t be swallowed by their pollution- 

 

It was a view that couldn’t be rivaled by anything, out here in the country, but a tiny part of Akira ached. 

 

_ Yusuke doesn’t get to see this, does he? Has he ever?  _

 

He frowned, before an idea struck him, fingers fishing for his phone. Futaba caught his eye, but he paid her no mind as he flopped down onto his back, feeling the grass underneath him as it tickled his neck and the back of his arms, rich with the smell of the rain from earlier that week. Carefully, he slid open the camera app, keeping his phone as steady as possible, aiming for the stars high above them as the two long-lost lovers were finally reunited for a day. 

 

“If you drop your phone on your face, I’m just gonna laugh,” Futaba quipped, and Akira snorted, snapping away before shifting it just slightly to get another angle. Cell phones were nothing compared to professional-grade cameras but he made do with what he had, and as he swiped through them, sitting up as he did, he found that he hadn’t done too poorly.  _ I think these will do.  _

 

(He didn’t notice Futaba with her phone out too, silently waiting and watching as he chose the perfect photos.) 

 

“No,  _ no,  _ don’t eat  _ all of the- hey!”  _ Akira looked over to see Sojiro scowling at a smugly-grinning Morgana perched on Futaba’s shoulder, a strangely-human smile curving around an entire skewer of freshly-fried squid. 

 

“Nice catch, Mona!” Futaba cheered, scratching under his chin, and Akira laughed as Sojiro rolled his eyes and shut the bag with a huff. Morgana hummed and tore off a curled tentacle, winking at Akira. 

 

“That’s  _ human  _ food, you little menace,” Sojiro grumbled, and Morgana looked downright offended from his victor’s perch. Sojiro sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair, before adding “Well, I suppose since today’s a special occasion, it’s alright.” 

 

_ “Every _ day’s a special occasion while I’m still watching over you weirdos,” Morgana mumbled, and Akira snorted, hauling himself up to give him a look. Morgana returned to snootily eating his squid, and Akira shook his head with a laugh as he brushed grass out of his hair. 

 

_ “Wellll,  _ speaking of special occasions,” Futaba drawled, impish grin on her face as she pulled a leg up to rest her chin on it, “are you gonna do the thing, Sojiro?” 

Akira felt his stomach cramp with nerves, shooting Futaba a panicked look that she warded off with a waggle of her eyebrows. 

 

Sojiro chuckled. “What, you still want me to tell you that story after all these years?” he asked, shaking his head. He pulled his hat off to drop it onto the blanket, shifting in his spot. “It’s been  _ how _ many times now since you’ve heard it?” 

 

“Ten, but this’ll make eleven,” Futaba replied immediately, and Akira couldn’t help a weak laugh at that. 

 

“Knowing you, you’ve probably got it all memorized as it is, so why should I bother?” Sojiro teased, and Futaba puffed out her cheeks in a pout, earning a paw swatting lightly at one of her cheek as she jostled Morgana. 

 

“But  _ Sojiro,  _ you  _ have _ to do it! It’s  _ tradition,”  _ she argued, and a small part of Akira hoped she’d just drop it. “Besides, it’s Akira’s last year before he heads off to college like the adult he is!” 

 

Sojiro crossed his arms, leaning back with an eyebrow raised. “Why do I get the impression there’s something you aren’t telling me?” he joked, and Akira froze. Futaba, however, waved him off, apparently dislodging Morgana as he silently crept into Akira’s lap; he rubbed his head against Akira’s leg in a silent gesture of comfort, and Akira stroked down his back appreciatively.

 

“It’s an hour before the fireworks, so there’s still time!” Futaba pressed, and she rolled onto her stomach to poke at Sojiro’s leg.  _ “Pleaaaase?”  _

 

“Okay, okay, sheesh,” Sojiro ceded, and Futaba cheered, flipping onto her back and resting her head on Sojiro’s ankle. He rubbed at the back of his neck, sighing. “I don’t know what’s so exciting about some old story of mine, though.”  

 

_ Because I’m living through the exact same thing and I need a sense of comfort that I’m not going insane,  _ Akira thought, dreary, and settled for scratching at the base of Morgana’s ears instead of voicing the thought. 

 

“Well, it’s a good night for it, isn’t it?” Sojiro added, looking up toward the sky. “You can see the stars so clearly; thankfully it isn’t raining like it’s been for the past month.” 

 

Akira glared at Futaba when she shot him a mirthful look, teeth white beneath her wide smile that spoke every unvoiced thought he knew she meant to say.  _ Don’t you dare, Futaba, I swear.  _

 

“Well, you know what they say about rain during  _ Tanabata,”  _ she started, breaking into a cackle when Akira smacked her ankle. 

 

Sojiro huffed a laugh, reaching for the bag and pulling out a bottle of water. “Well, the rain would be appropriate, given the nature of the story,” he said lightly, but Akira could hear the sober tone behind his words, and his heart ached. “Anyway, shall I begin?” 

 

_ “Yes!”  _

 

“Futaba, you  _ do  _ realize you need Akira’s opinion too, right?” 

 

“Oh, I’m  _ sure  _ he won’t mind.” She craned her head up to give Akira a knowing look. 

 

He flattened his lips into a thin line before looking to Sojiro. “I don’t mind it, so long as you’re okay telling us again,” he said, and Sojiro blinked before his face warmed into a smile. 

 

“That’s not the response I was expecting, but really, it’s okay,” he said, before rolling his neck and clearing his throat, shifting into what Futaba referred to as  _ Story-Time Dad-Mode.  _ “Well, it all started in the summer of my seventeenth birthday, just as the weather was starting to get horrendously hot with no rain in sight, hot enough that I had to be careful on the asphalt or my shoes would melt.” 

 

“Ewww,” Futaba muttered, and Morgana hushed her. Sojiro laughed, shifting his legs and nudging Futaba just enough that her weight was on both instead of one. 

 

“Yeah, that was pretty much our reaction to that too,” he agreed. “Anyway, the first time I remember it happening was a Sunday, and I was supposed to go out grocery shopping with your mom, Akira-” he nodded toward him- “but when I woke up, something was obviously very,  _ very  _ wrong. I mean, last I’d checked, I didn’t happen to have-” 

 

_ “Nope,  _ no, move on, we’re not doing this again,” Futaba cut in, grabbing at Sojiro’s wrist where he was gesturing obviously to his chest. “We  _ get it,  _ you were in a girl’s body!” 

 

“Do you want me to tell this story or not?” he interrupted, eyebrow thinly arched. Akira laughed quietly, soaking in the banter. 

 

_ “Yeah,  _ but the interesting bits, not the gross ones!” 

 

“Futaba,” Morgana warned, and she groaned, crossing her arms with a  _ hmph.  _

 

“Fine, I’ll shut up,” she said, and Morgana snorted. 

 

“Damn, I wish that would work  _ all  _ the time,” he said, and Akira sucked on his lip to keep from snickering, lightly poking at Morgana’s stomach to silence him. 

 

“Are you done?” Sojiro asked, a faint laugh in his words as Futaba craned her head back to peek up at him. She nodded vigorously, enough to shake Sojiro, and he grinned. 

 

“Well, anyway, despite being so  _ rudely  _ interrupted, I did in fact wake up in some mysterious girl’s body without a clue in the world. She was so  _ neat,  _ with sticky notes covering  _ every little thing-” _ he swept his hand out- “and yet I still had absolutely no idea what to do.

 

“After awkwardly changing and wandering aimlessly around her room, I left her tiny apartment, only to be  _ utterly  _ swallowed up by this huge city I’d never been in before.

 

_ (“Kyotoooo,”  _ Futaba sang, spreading her arms in a melodramatic arc,  _ “the city of the camellia!”  _ Akira swatted her leg.) 

 

“Long story a bit shorter, I was trapped in the body of a girl I’d never met in a school I’d never heard of, and I spent the day confused yet also slightly excited. I mean, I figured it was a dream anyway, and why not enjoy being this hot girl in a big city where nothing I did really mattered? Sounds like the perfect day, huh? 

 

“Well, I thought the same when I woke up as myself, but something was slightly off when I talked with everyone else; they kept asking me if I was okay, or if I knew what was going on, and stuff like that. The weirdness kept happening the more and more I had that ‘dream’, and I realized that I was experiencing time slips, or days I didn’t remember entirely yet everyone  _ insisted _ had happened. 

 

“Eventually, I had the brilliant idea of writing something down- just a quick note, nothing special, but it did the job when I found a reply to it the next morning I woke up as myself. It was a very polite and well-put reply, something way out of my own league, but it was tangible proof that what was going on was _real,_ and insane at that.

 

“We kept switching after that, enough that we were able to learn each other’s routines, but it wasn’t until my sister said something about the whole situation that I realized she’d experienced the same thing around the same age I had. I felt kinda bad ‘cause I didn’t tell her, but that was when she explained the legend of our family as well as the boy she swapped with herself.

 

“That was the first time she told me about him, telling me about how even though she still remembered him down to ‘the funny way he looked when he smiled’ as she phrased it, he had absolutely no idea who she was, and wanted nothing to do with her the day she approached him. It was upsetting to hear, especially now when I know she still loved him the day she died, but it was touching in a way that despite the odds, she stubbornly held onto him- kinda like Orihime and Hikoboshi, in a way. 

 

“Anyway, the more the heatwave raged on, the more and more I myself switched, doing my best to keep everything normal with the help of my sister, who apparently ending up befriending the girl who would take my place. She’d teach her what to do and what to say while visiting in Itomori, helping keep our secret hidden for as long as she was visiting our parents that summer, and I remember reading pages upon  _ pages  _ left for me about how much the two bonded. I was a bit jealous, actually… 

 

“After a while, I suppose it was kinda inevitable that even despite the situation, I- little by little- slowly began to fall in love with that mysterious girl, and… well, I guess there’s a tiny part of myself that still is, even to this day, where all I have is a face and the memory. I tried writing her letters from what little I remembered of her address, but the moment I woke up it all started to fade, until more and more unfinished notes piled up from where I’d hidden them under my bed. 

 

“As fall neared, we started to switch less and less, and I panicked, thinking I was losing her, until one day I had this intensely vivid dream-” he tilted his head back, staring up at the stars- “I was standing at the summit of the mountain just as dusk was falling, and everything was silent except for the sound of my feet on the stones and my heartbeat. It was so, so quiet, so  _ ethereal,  _ and something made me start to run. 

 

“I think I heard someone call my name, but all I know is that I was  _ running,  _ until something made me stop and turn around, yanking at me like this physical force, until I was face to face with  _ her.  _ It was insane, but she was there, standing right in front of me! I could _ touch  _ her,  _ hear  _ her, and we just talked and  _ talked.  _ Now I can’t remember what it was, but I know it was something important, whatever this dream was, and I remember waking up with this burning urge to remember…  _ something,  _ but it was gone the moment I woke up. You know, like when you have that perfect response to a joke but you only think of it eons later? Kinda felt like that. 

 

“That day was the last we switched, and it was like everything related to her just  _ vanished  _ until I was convinced I’d been half insane for two months. I researched  _ everything,  _ trying to find some trace of what happened, but all I had to go on was a feeling and an old legend. There was nothing special about that day except for a break in that hideous heat wave we had and a minor eclipse, but that was it- nothing momentous, nothing earth-shattering, even though it felt like  _ my  _ world had been turned upside down. 

 

“Unlike my sister, the only thing I have to remember of her is memory; I’ve long forgotten her name, her face, her voice, and even though I traveled to Kyoto many times in hopes of finding her, it was like I’d never been there a day in my life. It was all so hazy, but you know what they about dreams- they fade the minute you wake up, no matter how vivid you may think it was.” 

 

He sighed then, shutting his eyes against the starlight, fingers curling themselves. 

 

“I never saw her again, but every  _ Tanabata  _ I think of her, allow myself to dredge up the memories for just a moment.

 

“Before she died, I asked my sister what she thought the purpose of it all was, connecting me to this person only to be torn away, but she laughed and only said that it was a test of heart, seeing if a set of soulmates could truly last against all odds. She never really answered me when I asked if we’d failed, but I try not to dwell on that.” 

 

He was silent for a moment, not speaking, and Akira looked over at Futaba, who wore a similar expression of empathy. There was a hitch to his story that they’d figured out a few years ago, when Futaba had gone on a fervent search of information about her past- 

 

Every year, he lied, saying he never remembered the girl he swapped with, or that he ever saw her again, when Futaba found out the truth. 

 

The name they both knew he kept close to his heart was  _ Isshiki Wakaba,  _ the name of Futaba’s mother, who died in a horrible car accident that left Futaba unharmed but Wakaba dead on arrival, and they knew that he’d met her once again without her recognizing him and decided to befriend her even despite the pain of her memory having erased him. 

 

Numerous times Futaba had nearly demanded an explanation, stopped only by the realization that it would only hurt him, tearing down the carefully-crafted walls that he’d used to seal away both the death of his sister and the person he once loved utterly. 

 

(They couldn’t bear to destroy Sojiro like that, though they both had an inkling he knew that they’d figured it out; the story remained unchanged, however, still ending on something that could possibly end on a positive note.) 

 

Futaba started as an apology for what had happened to Wakaba and ended as Sojiro's love letter to her, raising Futaba as his own and kept away from the horrible darkness that her uncle had treated her with, an eloquent yet painful ending that Sojiro had long sewn shut, a promise to a ghost that would forever haunt him. Both she and Akira were reincarnations of the two people he loved most, echoes of the happiest moments of his life, and they both knew there was a solace he found in them despite the pain all of them had been through to create that patchwork family of theirs. 

 

“Do you still believe what my mom said, about you being soulmates?” Akira eventually said, breaking the careful silence with words that shocked even himself. Sojiro opened his eyes to blink at him, surprised, and nobody said anything for a moment as the gentle, summer wind curled around them. 

 

He smiled, then, a soft expression over his normally stoic face. “In a way, I suppose,” he said, leaning back onto his hands. “Things happen for a reason, right? I mean, that’s what she always said.” 

 

Akira found himself thinking back to Yusuke then, wondering oh-so tentatively if that was true.  _ Soulmates-  _ he hoped it could be so, in his heart of hearts, and felt his face go warm as something like a gentle thread tugged at something unseen deep in his heart to the gentle sound of a distant, chiming bell. 

 

“You’ve never asked anything like that before, though,”  Sojiro continued, giving Akira a carefully-placed look as he twisted open his water bottle, and Akira resisted the urge to squirm. “Something strike a chord with you this time around?” 

 

A million replies erupted in his mind, and Akira could practically  _ feel  _ the excitement vibrating around Futaba like someone waiting for the jumpscare in a horror movie their friend didn’t know was coming. His eyes skittered away from Sojiro to stare down unfocused at the blanket, fingers reaching up to twist at his bangs. “I guess,” he said quietly, heart thundering, and he heard Morgana snort at him. 

 

Sojiro took a long drink before capping it, setting it down just slowly enough that Akira felt like combusting. A smirk worked its way over his face, and yep, Akira was ready to descend into the crust of the earth away from Sojiro’s  _ horribly  _ knowing expression. “Alright kid, spit it out; I know somethin’s eatin’ at ya, and you’ve been off for the past few weeks.” 

 

_ “Ha!”  _ Futaba wheezed, throwing up a fist in victory, and Akira hissed a  _ “Futaba!”  _ at her that had her giggling. 

 

_ “So, _ Akira,” Sojiro started, crossing his arms, and Akira winced when he heard the faint dip of teasing deep in his tone, “you’ve been switching too? Is  _ that  _ why Futaba seemed so insistent on the story tonight?” 

 

Akira squeaked out a pathetic  _ “Maybe,”  _ that made Morgana snort, groaning when he saw Sojiro’s utterly elated expression. He groaned, covering his face with his hands, and both Sakuras laughed richly. 

 

“You  _ knew  _ this whole time?” Futaba accused, swiping for his water with slanted eyes and drinking slowly without breaking eye contact. 

 

Sojiro shrugged. “At first, no, but by the second time I figured it out pretty quickly; I was just waiting until he was ready to tell me himself,” he explained, and Akira spread his fingers to peek between them at him, still silent. 

 

“Damn, you keen old man! You got it faster than  _ I  _ did- I’m impressed!” Futaba lightly shoved at Sojiro’s shoulder, earning a faux look of admonition that brought a smile to Akira’s face despite how his heart raced.  _ This whole time he saw, and yet he pretended not to notice?  _

 

“Who’s the lucky girl then, Akira, since I’m apparently the last one to meet her?” Sojiro said, words equal part sincere as they were light-hearted jesting. 

 

Akira froze, blood rushing back to his face as the image of dark blue eyes and thin fingers and planes of pale skin that went for miles down a perfectly flat chest housing the heart of an artist and a voice the color of descending oceans-  _ Um. It- he’s not- _

 

“Woah, your face is the color of a tomato right now,” Sojiro commented casually, which only worsened the subject. “If you don’t wanna tell me, that’s fine, but I can just ask the next time she’s here.” 

 

Akira laughed weakly, fingers tugging back at his hair. “No, it’s not that, it- just- it’s-” 

 

“For the love of-  _ oh my god,”  _ Futaba cut off, rolling her eyes dramatically before turning to Sojiro. “His name is  _ Yusuke.”  _

 

Akira’s stomach lurched, fingers clenching as he watched Sojiro process the information, cold fear dripping into his chest. 

Sojiro blinked- 

 

_ One second, two-  _

 

-before he hummed, face breaking into a grin. “I suppose that does makes sense, given the Takenashi incident,” he said, and Akira groaned again, mortified. 

 

“You knew about that  _ too?”  _ he asked, voice only slightly shaking from both embarrassment as well as residual fear melting away into relief, and Morgana cackled, utterly beside himself. 

 

Sojiro drew himself up, sticking his chin out faux-haughtily. “Hey, I may be old, but I’m not  _ that  _ old, and I happen to have  _ eyes,  _ you know,” he said, and Futaba started to wheeze, pounding on the ground. 

 

“Oh Jesus, this is  _ gold,”  _ she choked, and Akira wanted to burst into flames. 

 

“I hate both of you,” he mumbled, and Sojiro chuckled, the sound warming Akira from the inside out. 

 

_ He isn’t upset with me.  _

 

“So,  _ Yusuke,  _ eh? Tell me about him,” Sojiro asked, before he snorted at Akira’s face. “Or I can just wait and talk with him myself, given the fact that you look ready to  _ explode.”  _

 

“No, I’m- I’m okay,” Akira forced out, adjusting his glasses and ignoring the faint mutter of  _ smooth  _ from his lap. “What do you wanna know?” 

 

“Well, just gimme the basics,” Sojiro said, “‘cause I wanna hear the rest from himself. Where’s he from, what he’s like, stuff like that.” 

 

“Akira’s got you beat city-wise, Sojiro,” Futaba chimed in.  _ “He  _ gets to wander through  _ Tokyo  _ multiple times a week!” 

 

Sojiro’s eyes widened, surprised. “Really?” Akira nodded. “Well,  _ that  _ must be interesting.” 

 

Akira snorted. “That’s a way to describe it, getting lost in the train station just about every day,” he deadpanned, and Sojiro’s lips quirked up into a grin. 

 

“You’re just lucky you don’t have to walk the entire way to school like I did, and in a  _ skirt  _ no less!” 

 

Akira sighed theatrically. “Considering the amount of times he runs out of money for the train, sometimes I  _ do  _ have to haul my ass all the way there, and the GPS only gets me so far…” 

 

Sojiro knit his eyebrows, an amused yet confused smile on his face. “He lives in Tokyo and he doesn’t keep enough money for the train station?” 

 

“Artists are weird, and apparently also weird with money,” Futaba cut in, and Akira watched as his face lit up in recognition. 

 

“You know what, I’d guessed that he was either an artist or a musician with the way he talked, so it looks like I get full points for that,” Sojiro said, and Akira gave him a surprised look. Sojiro raised an eyebrow. “I watched him the day we went to Lupin’s, and only an artist gets doe-eyed like he did about the landscape as we drove by,” he added. 

 

“Oh shit, I  _ did  _ miss bean day,” Akira whispered in realization, silently apologetic for Yusuke.  _ I completely forgot to warn him about that just in case it did happen…  _

 

_ “That  _ was the day I tried to wean the truth out of him, but he just kinda….imploded,” Futaba said, with an exploding motion of her hands,“though it was kinda funny watching him silently freak out.” 

 

Akira gave her a look. “Please don’t break him,” he tried meekly, but she only grinned at him. 

 

“I make absolutely no promises,” she said, and Akira spluttered, trying to argue wordlessly as she broke back into full laughter. 

 

“Man, I can’t wait to meet this kid properly,” Sojiro added, and Akira whipped toward him, eyes wide. 

 

“Not you  _ too-”  _

 

“Oh no, not ‘cause of  _ that,  _ but because I’ve never seen  _ anyone _ make you that embarrassed before in your life, you stoic boy,” Sojiro scolded lightly, and Akira rubbed at the back of his neck to try and quell the burn here. 

 

“I just… wasn’t sure how you’d react to him, so I was just kinda caught off guard,” Akira said quietly, eyes flickering back up toward Sojiro at the quiet huff of a laugh. 

 

“Like I’d be angry about something like that,” he said sincerely, before a warm smile broke over his face; Akira blinked, surprising curving up through his eyes, brightly lighting up his face in something  _ gentle.  _ “Just make sure you don’t lose him, you hear me? He’s always welcome here, which isn’t surprising considering your mishmash of friends who frequently squat in my home- what’s one more, eh?” 

 

Akira couldn’t reply, shock stealing his tongue as something impossibly deep pulled and shifted within him, something that wasn’t  _ him,  _ like the plucked strings of an instrument-  _ relief.  _

It rolled through him, unconscious and heavy, like a deep-set ocean wave.

 

“Woah, did I say thing wrong? I- uh- did I get a little too deep there or somethin’?” Sojiro backtracked, a little panicked, and Akira knit his eyebrows, the sudden pull of his face making him blink as something warm on his cheeks was cooled by the wind whistling around them. 

 

Akira’s fingers hesitantly pressed against his face, finding it wet by tears he didn’t remember shedding, and he laughed wetly as he wiped them away. “No, no, it’s not that,” he said, smelling salt twining with the smell of the summer night. “It don’t... think that was me.” 

 

(Locked far away in a studio, alone spare for the starlight seeping over the window sill, an artist was hunched over a stool with his face in his hands, an indescribable emotion overtaking him so strongly that tears slipped down his cheeks to mix with the gray smears of half-dried paint over his fingers.  _ Acceptance.)  _

 

The sudden crack of a firework and its subsequent explosion of electric violet over their heads made them jump, and Akira looked skyward in a sense of awe as the sparks slowly trickled down like the falling petals of a flower before fading away, perfectly framing the two stars high above them. 

 

It was a sight he’d seen many times before, but something about that night made it a hundred times more poetic, like he was carrying the heart of another person with him to watch one of his favorite things in the world. He felt like he was floating, full of cotton candy woven from the finest of dream silk, and he was so  _ light.  _

 

“Thank you,” he said to no one in particular- to Sojiro, to Futaba, to Fate and the gods, to  _ everyone-  _ as he watched the sky above him explode in color. _ “Thank you.”  _

 

\----- 

 

Distantly, Yusuke knew it was  _ Tanabata,  _ which is where Madarame had gone that night to observe the festivities for the sake of artistic inspiration, but he was more focused on the painting slowly taking shape before him: 

 

Amidst the grays and sweeps of white, a pair of hands emerged, the bottom half of a face, still obscured by the lack of paint on its canvas, but it was  _ progress.  _ Despite the rain pattering lightly on the window sill of the cracked window, Yusuke was  _ satisfied,  _ the scent of paint and dust mixing pleasantly with the richness of the rain and its smoky purple staccato. 

 

After being gripped so viscerally by an unnameable emotion, Yusuke found himself in front of the source of his present frustration, colors and shapes spilling from his mind into his fingers as he chased his block away before his tears could even start to dry, desperate to finish the next section before his bout of inspiration left him deserted and empty. (He’d had no idea what made him feel so  _ strongly,  _ but it was that same spark  _ Akira  _ gave him whenever his visage filled his mind, flashes of gray and gentle reds and wide grins he could only see in his dreams driving him to scratch pencil incessantly against paper until it was nothing but dulled lead.) 

 

Deep in his mind and accompanied by nothing but the rain and loneliness, a quiet ping of cyan interrupted him, startling him out of his fog of focus. He turned, catching the glimpse of his phone screen bright in the dark corner of his bed, and knit his eyebrows.  _ Perhaps Sensei needs my assistance?  _

 

On the screen, however, were three messages from an unknown number, with three additional photo attachments: 

 

_ Unknown [11:23 pm]  _

_ Yo these are for you inari  _

_ Unknown [11:23 pm]  _

_ These two are from Akira with the message of- and i quote- “for the city boy who desperately needed to see what stars really look like” _

_ Unknown [11:23 pm]  _

_ And this one’s my gift to you, since i thought you might want a bit more inspiration  _

 

_ Futaba?  _

 

Yusuke didn’t respond to the messages, instead clicking open the attachments of the first message, gasping in delight at the sight of  _ stars  _ captured impressively within the frame of a phone, the center point being two brighter stars that seemed to reach for each other, so close yet a hairsbreadth from touching. 

 

_ “Ah, Vega and Altair, the wedded stars of the  _ **_Tanabata_ ** _ legend,”  _ Madarame’s voice echoed through his memory,  _ “separated by the Milky Way and only able to reunite should the magpies come to build a bridge for them. If it rains, however, the birds are driven away, and the lovers weep for each other; this is why they call those days ‘The Tears of Orihime and Hikoboshi’.  _

 

_ “I wonder, is there any reason in why it always seems to rain when I take you to the festival with me, Yusuke?”  _

 

Yusuke shook the memory from his mind, chasing it away before it devoured the rush of inspiration he was wading through, before tapping at the final image, freezing when it loaded: 

 

A single, wonderfully lit shot of Akira, head thrown back in to watch the sky above him in glee, the technicolor of fireworks dancing over his skin and emphasizing the shadows of his throat and reflecting in his glasses, the color striping through his dark hair as it tumbled away from his face. There was a wordless smile on his face, mouth open in half of a delighted gasp, and it was clear he’d had no idea he was being photographed. 

 

Something deep tugged at Yusuke, and his fingers itched, eyes skipping back over to the unfinished painting, a faint bloom of an idea warm in his chest in tandem to the smile spreading over his face. 

 

He found himself saving all three photos immediately, before setting the phone down and shuffling back over to the easel. Sitting down, he leaned over to reach for a different pallet, shifting the tray of perfectly-mixed grays away in favor of an unopened tube of crimson. 

 

The color was bright as blood as he dipped his brush into it, turning back toward the easel with a spark of vermillion determination burning in his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end of Act Two- we're halfway there! Now buckle up, 'cause Act Three's were the shit starts to go down.... 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading (and to those who are still sticking with me, I deeply appreciate you), and comments/questions are always welcome! 
> 
> Next chapter:  
> Photos, crows, text-threads gone wrong, and the body of a god before the entrance to the underworld


	6. Rückkehrunruhe (I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With summer in full swing, time begins to fall faster forward as relationships begin to cement and stubbornly settle in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait- I'm finally out for the summer and finals were hell, so I finally got to sit down and chunk out the next bit of this. I'm so excited to say that I've reached 70K and there's so much to come!   
> Thank you for waiting- I hope you enjoy! This one's a long chapter!  
> (Say hello to the final Phantom Thief- he fought me tooth and nail before he'd appear!)

**_Act Three: Rückkehrunruhe_ **

 

_ [ _ _ The feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness—to the extent you have to keep reminding yourself that it happened at all, even though it felt so vivid just days ago.] _

  
  


With summer now in full swing and the thought of school the most distant thing in his mind,  Yusuke found himself swept away by summer storms and a seemingly unending bout of inspiration he feared would evaporate the minute he looked away from his work. He kept mostly to himself, thankful for Madarame’s understanding of a muse-laden surge of creativity, though he feared the consequence of what would happen once the work was completed. 

 

He shook his head, forcing the dark thought away to curve his brush over the shadows of fingers pressed against a face, dark gray on white. (The fear still gnawed at his stomach, distracted but still there even if Yusuke banished it for the moment.) 

 

The Sakura inquiry into what he was painting refused to fade as well, from Futaba’s complaints red-shaded green from his phone speaker to the delightfully gentle tones of gray-bound Akira, the latter of which Yusuke immediately realized were infinitely better to hear spoken from Akira himself. 

 

(He’d been hesitant when Akira suggested calling once again, just as nervous as the first time, but he’d sat in raptured silence as Akira’s voice bubbled anxiously over the line, his nerves not dulling his colors in the slightest. Yusuke told him as such, awed in hearing how Akira’s voice was  _ supposed  _ to sound, and felt himself turning a shade of daylily pink when Akira laughed quietly into the receiver.) 

 

Akira had confessed the information he’d divulged to Sojiro during the festival, bashful enough that Yusuke could envision him rubbing at his neck or covering part of his face when he told Yusuke that Sojiro had already figured them out; Yusuke had apologized vehemently, of course. Akira brushed him off, insisting that it was no issue, and that Sojiro desperately wanted to meet him the next day they switched. 

 

Anxiety immediately cramped in Yusuke’s stomach, only to fade when Akira’s voice filtered back through the dusty room.  _ “He’s not all that scary, I promise,”  _ he said, a faint laugh nipping under his syllables.  _ “He can just be a bit… imposing at times.”  _

 

“So I’ve noticed,” Yusuke said dryly, lips curving into a smile as his sarcasm elicited a snicker from the line. 

 

A faint gasp dotted in Yusuke’s vision, making him glance over at the phone curiously.  _ “Oh, that’s right! The photos went through- did you like them?”  _ Akira asked, genuine. 

 

Yusuke, despite knowing Akira had no knowledge of it, immediately thought back to the last photo Futaba had sent, and he chastised himself for how quickly his ears pinked. “I- yes, I did,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m not quite sure why Futaba keeps demanding photos of myself in return, however.” 

 

Akira sighed.  _ “She really wants to know what you look like, and since she was the one who found the loophole…. well, I think you know her well enough to get the gist of it.”  _

 

“I suppose I should thank her, as well as yourself for the lovely photos, but…” Yusuke trailed off. 

 

_ “But?”  _

 

Yusuke huffed. “I’ve never been comfortable using myself in any media, I suppose; self portraits just aren’t my, well, ‘thing’, for lack of a better term.” 

 

_ “The camera won’t bite, you know,”  _ Akira teased, and Yusuke huffed a laugh, setting down the brush he was presently using and reaching down for his drink, eyes tracing over the work he’d completed thus far. 

 

“I understand that, but I fear I won’t be able to give you a satisfactory photo in return for the ones you gave me, and I wouldn’t want to be associated with such a poor representation,” he commented, shaking his head as he took a sip from his mug- 

 

Only to gag as he tasted water and paint instead of the tea he’d been expecting. 

 

_ “Uh, are you okay?”  _

 

Yusuke coughed, wincing, before he stared bitterly at the mug before glancing inside of it. “I really ought to label these,” he said scathingly, setting it on the opposite side of his paints and reaching for the initial mug he’d sought out. “The amount of times I’ve accidentally mistaken paint water for my drink is a number that I am more than ashamed to admit.” 

 

A burst of noise emerged from the phone, and Yusuke stared at it as he took a long drink of tea in an effort to wash away the bitter taste of the paint under his tongue.  _ “Yusuke, oh my god, are you  _ **_sure_ ** _ you’re okay?”  _ Akira forced out, and Yusuke was delighted to hear he was  _ giggling  _ despite the schadenfreude cause of his laughter. 

 

Yusuke frowned, thinking. “Would that count toward my caloric intake for the day?” he said, contemplative, cut off by a sharp  _ ‘Yusuke, NO!’  _ that made him smile. 

 

Yusuke wasn’t entirely sure  _ what  _ to call the warm, fluttering feeling behind his breastbone that seemed to follow wherever Akira led him, but he supposed it was a sense of inclusion, of family, this walking incarnation of summer in a single, simple boy. (Not that Yusuke ever thought of Akira as  _ simple.)  _

If it kept Yusuke functioning and awake, drawing colors and shapes to his fingers, he’d gladly chase it until he was out of breath and blind from want. 

 

Small conversations like that one became Yusuke’s solace, and while phone calls were harder to have due to the nature of his situation with Madarame, messages and other updates chirped frequently from his phone instead. He had a hard time concealing his newfound mood, unable to keep from smiling with every spur-of-the-moment message. (Madarame certainly noticed, but Yusuke made sure to attribute it to the conquering of his recent artblock; after all, it wasn’t as if it was far from the truth.) 

 

As of late, however, he’d taken to completing a smaller project at the request of Futaba, kept away from Akira’s knowledge, and looked down at the sketchbook in his lap with a hum.  _ I do my best to keep in mind what I’m to be painting, but it’d be so much easier if I had it  _ **_with_ ** _ me,  _ he mused, frustrated, before closing it with a sigh. His fingers drummed over its surface as he thought, mentally searching through color palates and schemes as his mind conjured up the image of the photos Futaba had sent. 

 

_ ‘Okay okay, Inari, hear me out for a second, but I have an idea I wanna do for Akira- you listening?’  _

 

The request had come out of the blue, but he’d accepted it nonetheless. 

 

_ ‘So he’s got this book- kinda like a scrapbook, I guess?- but it’s where he stores all of his old photos he’s taken that don’t really fit on his desk. Mm, well, now that I’m thinking about it, it’s more like a portfolio….  _

 

_ ‘Anyway, he has a section where he writes down what he remembers in the moment of the photo beside it, kinda so he can immortalize it in two different ways before it all fades away, but he’s always complained that it needed more color. However, he kinda just lets it be because he’s afraid of ruining it with paint or anything, and, well…’  _

 

_ ‘You want me to do something for him?’  _ Yusuke had cut in, and she’d hummed in affirmation. 

 

_ ‘I could, like, pay you if I could, but I dunno how that’d work?’  _

 

_ ‘You have no need to, considering it’s for Akira.’  _

 

_ ‘..... You sap.’  _

 

Later, he’d received photos of the spreads from when she had the chance to sneak in to take them and he immediately started to brainstorm. She hadn’t been lying when she said the spreads were plain, devoid of color spare the photo housed on that particular spread. With the nature of the photos and the quality of his phone, Yusuke wasn’t able to clearly make out the writing on the opposite pages, but he figured he’d get a chance to examine the book further the next time they switched. 

 

What mattered, however, were the  _ colors _ of the photos, tugging inspiration deep from his mind until he realized he was  _ excited  _ to work on such a small project. While his present canvas loitering in the corner of his room served an entirely different facet of his ravenous inspiration, working on something for a person that he  _ knew  _ would love it as  _ art  _ over exploit was a foreign feeling, and he felt a bit selfish knowing that it would bring himself a level of satisfaction as well. 

 

_ I just hope he won’t be insulted that someone else was in his work and altering it.  _ The thought made him frown, his fingers still drumming in tune to the hubbub of people weaving around him as they headed down the stairs into Shibuya station. He’d sat himself on one of the benches nearby, just out of the way enough that he could observe from his spot in the shade while also not being too prominent, simply basking into the summer warmth without the fear of burning as he tried to brainstorm something outside of  _ color.  _

 

“Oh, that  _ is  _ you, Kitagawa-kun!” a voice suddenly called, sweetly-rusted and making Yusuke freeze, fingers falling flat. He looked up to someone approaching him, the bright white of their shirt stark against a striped tie.

 

Yusuke levelled his face into pleasant neutrality. “Akechi-san, what brings you here?” he asked lightly, earning a faint laugh. 

 

“It seems you took the words right out of my mouth.” Akechi Goro stopped in front of him, one hand propped on his hip to splay black-clad fingers over the fabric. Yusuke never quite understood the appeal of gloves as a fashion item, finding them stifling and bothersome except in the winter time, but they apparently were a staple for Akechi, who Yusuke’s never seen once with bare hands. 

 

Yusuke knit his eyebrows, crossing his legs as he regarded him. “Why  _ are _ you wearing your uniform? It’s break, is it not?” he asked, genuinely curious despite how much he wished to be left alone at that particular moment. 

 

Akechi huffed a laugh, a thin line between sincere and haughty; Yusuke could never really tell when it came to him, even when focusing on his colors. “I had an interview today with a local television station, and I thought it best to represent Kosei while I spoke,” he said, shifting his weight, “never mind the fact that this was the only presentable outfit I had at the moment.” 

 

There it was- the aspect that Yusuke couldn’t ever quite grasp in regards to Akechi, where he switched from thinly-precocious to humbled in an almost self-deprecating way in the span of a single sentence. His voice was no better, as softly spoken as they came, but there were times where the gold that underlined his rust seemed oily and multi-chrome, shifting, before that rust started to bleed into something stronger; he didn’t know which meant he was lying, or which meant he was sincere.

 

Truth be told, Akechi Goro was the kind of person Yusuke never foresaw acquainting himself with, easily frustrated by his two-faced nature and horde of vocal fans, but there was something that piqued his interest when it came to him. Then again, it wasn’t as if he was  _ given  _ a choice to befriend him or not when Akechi found him hiding out in one of the old theatre rooms re-bandaging his ribs from where his bindings had slipped uncomfortably, bruises starkly on display to match the bewildered expression on Yusuke’s face when he saw  _ Akechi Goro  _ of all people hastily slamming the doors shut as he braced himself against them. 

 

There’d been a tennis match of silence as they stared at each other, Yusuke balancing between mortification and rage before Akechi held a finger to his lips with a wink, a silent understanding. 

(When he learned the reason for his rude arrival, Yusuke had only scowled, unfortunately fully able to envision a flood of girls refusing to leave him alone.) 

 

That had been nearly two years ago, and why Akechi still bothered to remain in contact with Yusuke was beyond him. Or why Yusuke  _ let  _ him. 

(They do say pain can draw like to like.) 

 

“Did you hear me, Kitagawa-kun?” 

 

Yusuke shook himself out of his mind with a faint blip of realization popping in his chest. “Hm? What did you say?” 

 

Akechi only chuckled before moving to sit down beside Yusuke, leg crossed over his thigh and hands carefully braced on his knee. He nodded to the sketchbook where Yusuke’s fingers were laced together, resisting the urge to twitch. “I only asked about what you were working on.” 

 

Yusuke stubbornly bit his lip, surreptitiously sliding the sketchbook toward himself. “Nothing that concerns you,” he said, words thin but not cruel. (Irritated, maybe, but he had no intention in being rude.) 

 

“Well, I suppose a response like that is only to be expected,” Akechi said lightly, not shaken in the slightest. He leaned back with a sigh, hands shifting to gently clasp at his ankle, and Yusuke wondered (not for the first time) just how much of his body language was artificial, carefully planned out in advance. “You know I mean no harm in it, yes?” 

 

Yusuke squinted slightly at him, an argument quick to his tongue, but he breathed it out upon realizing how futile it was; after all, there was no one better at pushing buttons than Akechi. “It seems that those in the line of investigative work seem to lack a sense of personal boundary,” he instead settled on, not noticing how Akechi blinked in surprise, “though your brand of bluntness is quite different from Niijima-san.” 

 

“I could comment on your  _ own _ bluntness, but I believe I’ve known you long enough by now to realize the fruitlessness,” Akechi replied, the dark gold under his words revealing his subtly cunning edge of humor. “Though I must say, it  _ is  _ more refreshing than the saccharine sweetness I’m used to hearing just to get me to do things.” 

 

Yusuke raised an eyebrow, unamused. “And here I thought you’d be used to such  _ trivialities _ by now.” 

 

This time Yusuke elicited a full laugh from Akechi, a beat of a blood-red heart with golden ichor lurking just beneath to belie that while short, it was genuine.  _ “You  _ of all people should know that the more you acquaint yourself with upper-class adults, the more of said trivialities you must subject yourself to,” he said; there was a faint strain of annoyance under his voice, barely perceptible. “After all, isn’t the opening of Madarame’s exhibit approaching quickly?” 

 

Yusuke sighed deeply, the realization of how much work he’d have to attend to the minute he arrived home crashing over him. “Yes, and while it’s wonderful for Sensei to have an exhibit right in the heart of Tokyo, the work level is…. Well,  _ troublesome,  _ is a way to put it.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before continuing. “Of course, it’s not as if I can complain, considering all that he’s done for me.” 

 

_ After all, this is the only way my art will ever be displayed-  _

_ If it’s to be under another’s name who takes the praise, then so be it.  _

 

Akechi only hummed, eyes cast out toward the hubbub of people milling about the Shibuya station. There was a quiet wistfulness etched just beneath his features, translucent in comparison to the smile he kept fixed in place. 

 

_ Do I look the same every time someone compliments Sensei’s work in front of me?  _

 

“Well, it’s the summer break before our first year of college, so make sure to spend  _ some _ of it doing something you enjoy,” Akechi eventually said, surprising Yusuke. (His fingers squeezed around his book, knowing that its most recent pages were consumed by drawings upon drawings of a dream he would never be able to keep.) 

 

“I could say the same to you,” Yusuke said, giving him a look, “though I know you’ll most likely be caught up in more work as it is.” 

 

Akechi huffed a bitter laugh, dropping his leg back to the brick with a dull thud. “You’ve caught me,” he said dryly, the slant of light over his eyes showing a sharpness there, nearly red. “Though, if memory serves-” he glanced at his watch- “don’t you have work as well at about this time?” 

 

As if summoned by his words, Yusuke felt his phone vibrate as the muffled chime of his work alarm called for his attention in muted blues, making his stomach drop. He mumbled a swear that was half of a breath, reaching for his bag and depositing his supplies hurriedly into it.  _ I had no idea- I can’t believe I let myself get distracted by something so- so  _ **_selfish-_ **

 

“Everyone needs a chance to be selfish and now and then,” Akechi interrupted, and Yusuke’s fingers froze. “There’s no need to berate yourself like that.” 

 

Yusuke narrowed his eyes at him, disregarding his horrible tendency to speak aloud. “As if  _ you’re  _ one to lecture me about that,” he retorted thinly, watching as the line of a smile crept onto Akechi’s face; it made a flash of annoyance drip down Yusuke’s neck. 

 

“Have a good rest of your break, Kitagawa-kun,” Akechi said, his evasion of Yusuke’s question only further grating at him. “I do hope you’ll be able to find the inspiration you were looking for,” he added, and Yusuke’s heart lurched. 

 

_ While he may be ninety-percent affected charisma, there’s no denying that he still has a keen eye.  _ (Though, when you’re constantly on display, Yusuke supposed being able to read people closely only came naturally.)

 

“Goodbye, Akechi-san,” Yusuke said coolly, dipping his head in a polite bow and heading for the stairs, hoping the crowd would swallow him up. 

 

(He didn’t see the faintest tilt of the head, calculating, confused, searching for what was off with him that made him seem just the tiniest bit dulled.) 

 

***

 

While work at the flower shop was almost never eventful, either filled with pleasantly-numbing tasks or moments whisked away by Yusuke sketching the ever-changing interior of the shop, Yusuke couldn’t deny that today he was simply  _ distracted.  _ His mind was buzzing, lost in more than simple thought as he felt the back and forth argument of Akira and Futaba vibrating incessantly from where his phone was tucked in his back pocket. His fingers itched for a pencil as well, having inspiration sparked by a shipment of peonies that Hanasaki-san had brought in, but he restrained himself to better focus on actually doing his job. 

(Not that there was much to do that day, but that was the excuse he gave himself to ignore how  _ deeply  _ this vein of inspiration was tugging at him.) 

 

“Yusuke-kun, are you alright?” 

 

Yusuke bit back a sigh, setting down the papers he was supposed to be sorting. “I’m alright, Okumura-san,” he said, looking up to see her peering at him. “I apologize for being so… distracted.” 

 

She laughed lightly, the sound bell-like spare the warm purples twining around her instead of golds. “Please, you don’t need to apologize; I’m not scolding you,” she placated, coming around the counter to pull out the extra stool, sitting across from him. She smoothed out the apron over top of the pale green dress she’d worn that day before folding her hands in her lap and looking him the eye- 

Despite the softness of her features and her warm, brown eyes, there was a determinedly knowing expression on her face that told Yusuke he wasn’t leaving unscathed. 

 

“What’s been on your mind? You seem so lofty as of late, but also a bit troubled,” she said, before she caught sight of how Yusuke’s fingers fidgeted. “Oh, that was a bit forward, wasn’t it? I’m sorry, but-” 

 

Yusuke waved her off. “No, that’s alright, it’s a perfectly founded request,” he insisted, and she relaxed. “I’m not in any trouble if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

 

“But there  _ is  _ something bothering you?” Yusuke’s face fell, and she smiled in understanding. “Is it to do with your art?” 

 

“Partly, though I think it’s more of a side effect than anything,” he said, eyes looking over to his phone as it chirped brightly at him. He reached over to flip the screen toward him, sighing with a faint huff of amusement as he saw the text thread reading **_Futaba, Akira:_** _67 Messages._ The most recent message was a bold _INARI!!!_ from Futaba, though he didn’t know the rest of the context. 

 

“Is something wrong?” Haru asked, curiously peeking at him, but he only smiled, the corner of his mouth lifting. 

 

_ Futaba [12:03 pm]  _

_ INARI!!! _

_ Futaba [12:03 pm]  _

_ stop ignoring us when we’re talkin about you!!  _

 

_ Akira [12:03 pm]  _

_ Futaba _

 

_ Futaba [12:03 pm]  _

_ i’m in dire need of photographic evidence to quell my wandering mind  _

_ Futaba [12:04 pm]  _

_ cause right now I’m just envisioning a really vague shoujo love interest look for you _

 

**_Me [12:04 pm]_ **

**_Aren’t you two in the same room?_ **

**_Me [12:04 pm]_ **

**_Besides, I’m working now._ **

 

The look on Haru’s face when he looked up from his phone was an expression of delight and curiosity, and he quietly held his breath. “Does it have to do with that?” 

 

Yusuke chewed at his lip.  _ Yes, but no.  _ “In a sense, I suppose, but that’s not the direct issue.” He frowned then, ignoring the replies that buzzed in his hand. “It’s... more an issue with a medium than anything.” 

 

She knit her eyebrows. “Do you mean in the art sense?” He nodded, and she hummed, tilting her head just enough that the faintest glimmer of her earrings was visible through her hair. “While I’m by no means an expert in art myself, I don’t mind lending an ear if you’d like to just talk about it.” 

 

Relief unknotted in his stomach, eased by her gentle approach he knew he wouldn’t have gotten should Makoto had been working today. His eyes flickered down to his phone, blinking at the screen. 

 

_ Futaba [12:04 pm]  _

_ aw come on you’re no fun  _

_ Futaba [12:04 pm]  _

_ Just take a break for a few minutes and take a photo for usssss  _

 

_ Akira [12:03 pm]  _

_ You don’t need to force him.  _

_ Akira [12:03 pm]  _

_ If he’s not comfortable, then he’s not comfortable.  _

 

A faint warmth fluttered in Yusuke’s throat, a tiny smile curving on his lips at Akira’s insistence. 

 

“If I may also ask, who are you talking to?” Haru asked gently, and he looked up once again. 

 

He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat to draw his phone into his lap between his clenched hands. “A friend- why?” 

 

She smiled herself, sincere and bright. “Nothing- I just haven’t seen you smile quite like that before,” she said carefully, words simple but well-placed enough that he could read the secondary message underneath it:  _ I haven’t seen you that happy before.  _

 

He found himself blushing, and she giggled as he pressed a hand to his lips bashfully. “That’s- that’s beside the point,” he forced out, sighing when her purple chime of laughter shifted into indigo. 

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fluster you,” she said, but her expression was wide and lightly teasing, “but I  _ did  _ mean what I said.” 

 

He groaned, hands shifting to his eyes as he rested his elbows on his thighs. “I thought we were going to talk about my media issue,” he mumbled, fingers cool against his warm skin. 

 

“Oh! Yes, we did start there, didn’t we?” She tapped a finger at her cheek, before her attention was drawn away to something on the opposite side of the counter. “Hanasaki-san, do you need some assistance?” 

 

“No, I’m alright, dear- is Kitagawa-kun alright, though? I thought he was reorganizing the counter- where did he go?” 

 

Yusuke popped up then, a flash of cold fear drenching his embarrassment as he smoothed down the front of his shirt. “I’m sorry, I’m right here, ma’am,” he rushed out, wincing when he saw the startled expression Hanasaki gave him. It leveled out into an even smile, though, and she waved him off. 

 

“I didn’t see you back there,” she said, “so if anyone should be sorry, it should be me. Is everything okay?” He nodded fervently, and she propped a hand on her hip with a faint shake of the head. “I’m not angry with you, Kitagawa-kun; where’d that confidence from a few weeks earlier go?”

 

_ With his cousin Sakura Futaba all the way in a mountain-bound paradise I long to return to-  _

 

“Well, I suppose you’ll just need to ask that past self to borrow it here and there,” she finished, and while she meant no harm in her words or the wide smile on her face, Yusuke felt the reply settle over him like stinging nettles. 

 

He wasn’t able to respond as she slipped back into the greenroom, humming as she went; Yusuke felt his face fall. Haru noticed it, leaning forward to catch his eye, but he straightened up instead to sweep a few strands of hair out of his eyes before swallowing thickly. While he knew she would never be certain of the exact extent of his hurt, he knew that Okumura Haru was filled to the brim with empathy, sometimes to a level that ended up in her neglecting  _ herself,  _ but he could feel her warmth carefully settling around him. “What was it you wanted to talk about?” she asked instead, pleasant but quieted enough that her dark indigo lightened into cool lilac. 

 

Gratitude cooled the anxiety hot on his neck, and he let out a slow breath before the initial issue at hand made his expression twist. “I’ve been…. requested to partake in a different method of art, and I’m hesitant to tackle it,” he said, fingers hooking around each other as he felt the hard surface of his phone screen bite into his wrist bone. 

 

Haru tilted her head. “What makes you so hesitant, to use your word? Is it so outside of your comfort zone?” she asked genuinely, searching for multiple angles to her inquiry. 

 

_ (I’m hesitant because it means I’ll be climbing another step in a peculiar relationship, and I’ve yet to decide if it would be a step up or a step down-)  _

 

He frowned. “Photography has never been my strong suit in the first place, and considering I’m to combine it with  _ me _ as the subject-” his fingers tugged sharply,  _ childishly _ at each other- “it only coalesced into one monstrous task I’m not quite sure I know how to undertake.” 

 

There was a brief pause, but Yusuke didn’t notice it as he watched his fingers shift over each other. A faint laugh broke the silence. “Yusuke-kun, are you frustrated with taking a photo of yourself?” There was nothing teasing about her reply; only surprise and something warm. 

 

He sighed, shoulders hunching slightly, before an utter  _ torrent  _ of words fell out of his mouth in a stream of consciousness he hadn’t realized he’d been sitting on. “I’ve never been one for self portraits of  _ any  _ kind, but now I’ve been put into a position where I’d  _ like  _ to reciprocate, but I’m constantly plagued by such menial and irritating thoughts: Will it be good enough? How do I get the composition right? Am I supposed to take it in a particular fashion? What if he doesn’t like it- or what if it’s just  _ bad-?”  _

 

“Yusuke-kun-” 

 

“I mean, should I bother? I’m not skilled with cameras or technology in any fashion, but I don’t want to be a disappointment-” 

 

_ “Yusuke-kun-”  _

 

“I’m not even sure where to  _ begin  _ trying to get a product that would be anything close to satisfactory-” 

 

“Look at me for a second?” 

 

Yusuke, whose eyes had been fixed on his hands as he stretched and flexed them with every burning word, looked up at Haru, perplexed, before a flash went off. He blinked before registering the back of a purple phone directed toward him, and immediately let out a strangled  _ “Okumura-san!”  _

 

She only looked back down at her phone, tapping away carefully at something on the screen. “Don’t worry, I got one without flash as well, and I think I managed to get a few,” she hummed, before a buzz in his lap made him jump. “Will those be suitable for you? I did my best, given the circumstances.” 

 

Still jarred by what had just happened, his clumsy fingers opening his phone to see the message icon beside his thread with her, tapping it open to see the photos she’d attached. Of the set, two of them were overbright and glaring as the flash reflected off of the shine from the counter, but one of them caught his eye: 

 

He’d been half in realization when the shutter clicked, most of his surprise evaporated into wide-eyed shock that made his eyes glow darkly, hand frozen in a broken flutter by his face as his lips parted slightly. A blush warmed over his cheeks in a shade of pink that complimented the color of the flowers behind him and his hair had fallen into one of his eyes, but it only framed his expression in that one, minute second. 

 

He was shocked to find that he  _ liked  _ the photo, and felt the tips of his ears burn. 

 

“Yes, I think these will do just fine,” he heard himself say, before he looked back up toward her. “Despite your… well,  _ methods,  _ thank you for these.” 

 

Haru’s face split into a wide smile, her eyes crinkling in joy. “I’m glad they came out! I’m not so good with technology myself, but I figured that I could lessen your anxiety if someone went ahead and gave you a selection to choose from,” she explained, and he felt the sincerity in her words. “Are you sure they’re alright?” she asked, fingers fluttering down to smooth at the hem of her dress. 

 

He nodded, tucking his hair behind his ear as he sat back to open the overcrowded text thread with the Sakuras once again, lost in their conversation. “Yes, I’m quite sure,” he said, eyes flicking up lightly to her for a second as he offered her a quiet smile; she returned it in spades, far more electric and genuine than he could ever hope to achieve. 

 

_ Akira [12:13 pm]  _

_ Eeny  _

_ Akira [12:13 pm]  _

_ Meeny _

_ Akira [12:13 pm]  _

_ Miny  _

_ Akira [12:14 pm]  _

_ Mo _

 

_ Futaba [12:14 pm]  _

_ Guess _

_ Futaba [12:14 pm]  _

_ Who’s _

_ Futaba [12:14 pm]  _

_ A stupid hoe  _

 

_ Akira [12:14 pm]  _

_ That’s not how the rhyme goes.  _

 

_ Futaba [12:14 pm]  _

_ do I sound like I care?  _

 

**_Me [12:14 pm]_ **

**_I seemed to have missed quite a bit?_ **

**_Me [12:14 pm]_ **

**_I’m not entirely sure what’s going on here._ **

 

_ Futaba [12:14 pm]  _

_ ooooOOOOH the elusive fox is back!!!!!!!! _

_ Futaba [12:14 pm]  _

_ did you come back for my delicious memes?? _

 

**_Me [12:14 pm]_ **

**_Uh._ **

 

_ Akira [12:14 pm]  _

_ Don’t answer that, Yusuke.  _

 

_ Futaba [12:15 pm]  _

_ See??? _

_ Futaba [12:15 pm]  _

_ you’re only nice to HIM!! and ryuuji sometimes when he’s being whiny  _

 

_ Akira [12:15 pm]  _

_ I’d like to think I’m nice to everyone.  _

 

_ Futaba [12:15 pm]  _

_ Okay  _

_ Futaba [12:15 pm]  _

_ correction  _

_ Futaba [12:15 pm]  _

_ Only one person makes you SAPPY _

 

_ Akira [12:15 pm]  _

_ Your head is literally by my foot _

_ Akira [12:15 pm]  _

_ Remember that. _

 

_ Futaba [12:16 pm]  _

_ ouch how rude  _

_ Futaba [12:16 pm]  _

_ as if you’d give your lovely sister a concussion  _

 

_ Akira [12:16 pm]  _

_ Right now it’s *cousin _

 

_ Futaba [12:16 pm]  _

_ (,,#ﾟДﾟ) _

_ Futaba [12:16 pm]  _

_ HOW DARE YOU  _

_ Futaba [12:16 pm]  _

_ AFTER I SO GRACIOUSLY HELPED YOU THIS MORNING  _

 

**_Me [12:16 pm]_ **

**_….Did I interrupt something?_ **

**_Me [12:17 pm]_ **

**_I do come bearing gifts, if those are of any interest._ **

 

_ Futaba [12:17 pm]  _

_ ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿  _

_ Futaba [12:17 pm]  _

_ and what would those be pray tell  _

 

_ Akira [12:17 pm]  _

_ Futaba _

 

“I’m going to the back room for a moment,” Haru suddenly said, carefully standing and straightening her apron before looking him in the eye. “I hope they like the photo, whomever it is you’re talking to.” She gave half a bright laugh as he froze, a deer in headlights, before she turned to make her way around the counter, fingers drawing hapless shapes over the surface as hummed. 

 

Yusuke coughed, fingers redrawing his hair behind his ear self-consciously before he turned his attention back to his phone. 

 

**_Me [12:18 pm]_ **

**_Well, I spoke with a coworker about my recent plight, hoping it would alleviate a bit of my frustration._ **

**_Me [12:18 pm]_ **

**_She proved to be a good source of comfort for my anxiety, as foolish as it was._ **

 

_ Akira [12:18 pm]  _

_ I’m guessing it was Haru, then?  _

_ Akira [12:18 pm]  _

_ I think Makoto would be a bit too… brusque?  _

 

_ Futaba [12:18  pm]  _

_ Omg that’s so weird  _

_ Futaba [12:18 pm]  _

_ I forgot you’ve worked at the same place holy shit _

 

_ Akira [12:18 pm]  _

_ Futaba please  _

 

_ Futaba [12:18 pm]  _

_ Yes that’s my name don’t wear it out  _

 

_ Akira [12:18 pm]  _

_ Jesus christ  _

 

_ Futaba [12:18 pm]  _

_ Once again  _

_ Futaba[12:18 pm]  _

_ That is my name  _

_ Futaba [12:18 pm]  _

_ I said don’t wear it out  _

 

_ Akira [12:19 pm]  _

_ Yusuke, please continue.  _

 

_ Futaba [12:19 pm]  _

_ Boo you brown noser _

 

**_Me [12:19 pm]_ **

**_You were correct in your earlier guess, Akira._ **

**_Me [12:19 pm]_ **

**_She ended up taking the reins into her own hands in regards to my media issue, so…_ **

 

_ Futaba  [12:19 pm]  _

_ GASP  _

_ Futaba [12:19 pm]  _

_ ARE YOU SAYING WHAT I THINK YOU’RE SAYING  _

_ Futaba [12:19 pm]  _

_ OMG PLEASE  _

_ Futaba [12:19 pm]  _

_ ヾ(@゜∇゜@)ノ _

_ Futaba [12:19 pm]  _

_ ow that was rude akira  _

 

**_Me [12:19 pm]_ **

**_Oh_ **

**_Me [12:19 pm]_ **

**_I think I see a customer, so I’ll send this quickly._ **

**_Me [12:19 pm]_ **

**_I hope it’s to your satisfaction?_ **

**_Me [12:19 pm]_ **

**_Though I still don’t quite understand all the fuss when it’s just me._ **

**_Me [12:20 pm]_ **

**_(Attachment: 1 Image)_ **

 

The bright copper chime of a bell made him look up sharply, pocketing his phone hastily as he saw a woman taking in the shop in quiet adoration. “Hello, and welcome to  _ Hanasaki’s,” _ Yusuke announced smoothly, mind momentarily distracted from the nerve-wracking mode it had been in before he pressed the  _ send  _ button. “May I offer you any assistance?” 

 

The customer registered him then, blinking, before she shyly pressed a hand to her chest and relayed her request. With every word, he nodded, smiling, and for a moment he’d forgotten what he’d just sent as he reached under the countertop for the stack of catalogues he just finished organizing. 

 

***

 

The second the photo had loaded- Akira’s phone predictably glitched, but Futaba’s remained steadily on- the sound of Futaba’s victoriously delighted screech erupted through the entirety of the Sakura house at a pitch Akira could only describe as  _ deafening.  _

 

“Futaba,  _ Jesus-”  _

 

_ “Oh my god,  _ look at him!” she cut off gleefully, and Akira found himself reluctantly doing so.  _ “Finally! _ I was  _ so _ spot-on with my shoujo love-interest comment, though… why does his hair look blue? Maybe it’s just me-” 

 

Akira had tuned out her babbling as he studied the photo, seeing how shock looked on his face and in his eyes, how  _ soft  _ everything looked- his face, his eyes, his  _ hair in his eyes-  _ until he realized that Futaba had gone quiet. 

 

When he looked back at her, she was grinning dangerously, eyes flashing behind her glasses. “You’re drooling.” 

 

Akira scoffed. “I am  _ not-”  _

 

“Hey, you never told me he was _ pretty!  _ I think your words were just  _ lanky  _ and  _ tall!  _ But from the shade of pink your face is going, I’m thinking you were just holding back on me.” 

 

Akira gaped, sitting bolt upright to stare at her. “No, I didn’t-  _ I just-”  _

 

“Oh,  _ yeah,  _ I get it, you wanted to spare me the mushy details of your brain and the gross ideas you get whenever you two’ve swapped-” 

 

_ “Futaba!”  _

 

“-but now I know  _ why  _ you were so stingy! You wanna keep him to yourself, huh? I’m surprised no one’s snatched him away yet- mm, wait, no, I know his personality, so never mind.” She paused, looking down at the now-quiet Akira with an unamused expression. “Dude, I was just kidding.” 

 

Akira was lying on his side, unable to extricate himself from where Futaba had tangled them together to prevent his escape, and his hands were pressed  _ hard  _ into his face; his fingers didn’t cover his red ears, however, and Futaba noticed. 

She grinned widely, suddenly understanding. 

 

_ “Oh,  _ I get it,” she purred, and Akira turned away from her to curl into himself in mortification; Morgana crept over to them, fitting himself between Akira’s arms, and Akira quickly pulled him up to bury his face into his fur despite the yelp and the eyeroll. “So, I wasn’t too off, then,  huh?” 

 

_ “Shut up,”  _ Akira muttered, but she only crept closer to him to poke at his neck; he shivered, and the grin turned impish. 

 

“I must say, fourteen-year-old you with a crush is certainly not as entertaining as eighteen-year-old you-” 

 

_ “Stoooop-”  _

 

“-Because  _ this time  _ you aren’t as oblivious to it.” A deep groan emerged from where he was pressed into Morgana, making the cat squirm just slightly. “Oh, this is  _ great!”  _

 

“Please just let me die,” Akira mumbled bitterly, and she laughed. 

 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she chided, shifting enough that she could rest her arms on his hip bone and drape herself over his frame to peer at him sideways, bright hair splaying everywhere. “‘sides, I had an inkling as it was.” 

 

“I hate you,” he whined, and she snickered, fingers shoving his shirt hem aside to jab into his ribs, making him jolt.  _ “Hey!”  _ She stuck her tongue at him, earning a glare and a single gray eye stark against the black of Morgana’s fur. 

 

“So loud,” Morgana complained, but showed no signs of moving from Akira’s deathgrip. 

 

“Oi, what’s with all the noise in here, you two?” came Sojiro’s voice from the doorway, and Futaba shot up gleefully. 

 

_ “Sojiro,  _ come here, I need to show you something  _ important!”  _

 

_ “No,  _ please don’t-” 

 

Akira’s pleas went ignored as Futaba shoved her phone into Sojiro’s curious face as he leaned down, flinching away in time before the screen hit his nose. He squinted, adjusting his glasses. “Who’s this kid? He looks like a beanpole.” 

 

Akira groaned, pressing his face back into a mildly-annoyed Morgana as Futaba’s grin split into a wicked scythe. “It’s Inari in the flesh! Well, his  _ own  _ flesh, if that makes sense,” she replied, and Sojiro blinked, not quite registering, before Akira’s tired mumble of  _ “It’s Yusuke,”  _ made his eyes widen. 

 

“I  _ see,” _ he said thoughtfully, stroking at his goatee for a moment before a smile spread over his face. “He seems decent enough. Is there any reason why Akira looks as if he’s about to burst into flames, though?” 

 

Akira let out another noise of complaint as Futaba cackled loudly; Sojiro only knit his eyebrows. 

 

*** 

 

_ Akira [12:47 pm]  _

_ It’s good, by the way.  _

_ Akira [12:47 pm]  _

_ The picture, I mean.  _

_ Akira [12:47 pm]  _

_ Futaba hasn’t stopped screaming about it yet. _

 

**_Me [12:47 pm]_ **

**_I’m not sure if that’s a positive or a negative reaction…?_ **

 

_ Akira [12:48 pm]  _

_ Positive  _

_ Akira [12:48 pm]  _

_ Definitely positive! _

_ Akira [12:48 pm]  _

_ Thank you for sending it.  _

 

**_Me [12:48 pm]_ **

**_It’d be unfair if I took all the credit for myself, as I was still lamenting over how to approach the issue before Okumura-san took matters into her own hands._ **

**_Me [12:48 pm]_ **

**_But I’m glad you like it._ **

**_Me [12:48 pm]_ **

**_I hope Futaba will stop badgering me about it now…_ **

 

_ Akira [12:48 pm]  _

_ I think you’re off the hook. _

 

**_Me [12:48 pm]_ **

**_Thank goodness._ **

**_Me [12:48 pm]_ **

**_I think my train’s coming in soon-_ **

**_Me [12:48 pm]_ **

**_I’ll talk with you in a bit?_ **

 

_ Akira [12:48 pm]  _

_ Sounds good.  _

_ Akira [12:49 pm]  _

_ Get home safely, alright?  _

 

**_Me [12:49 pm]_ **

**_Well, I admit I’m making a short detour before I get home, but the concern is still appreciated._ **

**_Me [12:49 pm]_ **

**_I’ll talk with you later, then._ **

 

_ Akira [12:47 pm]  _

_ Any time.  _

 

(Yusuke couldn’t stop smiling stupidly at his phone even as he boarded the train, the sign for  _ Shinjuku  _ flashing brightly above its doors before they shut with a whine.)

 

\---- 

 

Amidst the drone of softened rose-champagne jazz blurred with quiet chatter, Yusuke was easily lost to the whims of his own mind as he wrote and sketched and planned, pulling pens and markers from his bag to dizzyingly swatch and stripe inks over the pale of his paper in the search for perfect color schemes in lines before him. While  _ Crossroads  _ wouldn’t have been his first choice of inspiration, it had long become a shelter from the glaring noise of red-light Shinjuku, quiet and humming in its own quaint corner of the brightly-lit streets; Yusuke had found it entirely by accident after taking a wrong train coming home from Kosei for the first time in his first year, and had fallen in love with its unique air and people the minute he stepped inside to get out of the torrential rain. 

 

Now, the ideas that had been bubbling in his mind earlier were spiralling dizzyingly into his fingers, satisfyingly warm somewhere in his stomach like a deep bass string plucked as  _ something  _ outside of misguided colors and emotions took shape on the pages before him; to say he was itching to begin the actual project was an understatement, though he still had the faint worry of accidental insult gnawing at him. 

 

He’d long lost track of the time, knowing that none of the patrons would bother to look for him crammed away in a tiny booth at the back of the bar, nor the owner the minute she’d seen the determined look in his eyes and what she described as ‘the unstoppable fire of an artist’ coiling around him. Pausing for the moment, however, he lightly swatted his pencils out of his way to dust eraser shavings from his sketchbook, looking down at what to anyone else would be chaos but to Yusuke was one of his favorite things about being an artist-  _ a tangible place to finally begin outside of his own fantasy.  _

 

He absently rubbed at his fingers, eyes cast down at his paper as he scrutinized what he’d finished with a much-less frenzied eye. Now that he’d slowed down, he realized he had a rather biting headache, and squinted at one of the sconces above him with a faintly-scandalized expression as he registered its barely-pink yet just as bright glare. He shook it off with a sigh, though, forcing it to the back of his head as he looked back down at his book, staring, calculating, tracing each line in his mind until his fingers felt their phantom motions with each heartbeat- 

 

He stared until his vision went blurry, cross-eyed from a mixture of exhaustion and strain, and closed the book with a sigh to scrub his hands through his hair. (The stubborn strands had refused to stay out of his eyes, and not for the first time he’d cursed himself for forgetting a clip of some sort.)  _ I suppose a small break is in order,  _ he thought, sliding his book away from him to instead rest his head over his crossed arms, feeling the bone press into his skull just enough that his headache pounded in his pulse. He couldn’t find it in himself to focus on it as the strain pulled at his entire body, revealing just how deeply he’d been focused on his work in how his neck ached, back and shoulders twinging with every shift, and wrist pulsing just  _ wrong.  _

 

_ I’ll close my eyes for a moment- just a faint second- and then I’ll head home,  _ he reasoned, eyes fluttering shut of their own accord- 

 

When he opened them again, however, they were fixed on a ceiling he didn’t immediately recognize, and the sound of  _ Crossroads  _ had disappeared completely. 

 

He froze, registering where he was and the feeling of someone’s legs buried under his from where he was stretched out on a couch, and quietly let out a pitiful  _ “Oh no.”  _

 

_ “Oh no  _ what, Sleeping Beauty?” Futaba commented dryly, raising an eyebrow, face strangely illuminated from the screen of her phone. Yusuke only gave her a look of alarm, still groggy, and her eyes narrowed in confusion before suddenly widening. “Is that  _ you, _ Inari?” 

 

Yusuke groaned, the noise affirmation in itself as he pressed a hand to his face, his other hand carefully shoving him up into a sitting position. “What time is it?” 

 

She grinned, mega-watted, before leaning into his face; he wrinkled his nose and leaned away from her, to no avail. “Long time no see, city boy! What’re you doin’ here so late, though?” 

 

“I’m not…. entirely sure myself,” he mumbled, jumping when he felt his back twist and crack. He blinked, eyes faintly flickering over his shoulder before he cleared his throat and looked back toward her. “Was Akira asleep as well?” 

 

She nodded. “Yep yep; he worked his ass off today helping the Takamakis for their ceremony tomorrow, and I think the thunderstorm coming just made him sleepier.” She paused, before craning her body over the back of the couch to look down the hallway, frowning. “Guess the rain makes spirit-cats sleepy too; I don’t see Mona anywhere.” 

 

_ A thunderstorm- really? Well, that’s certainly some odd timing for you.  _ (The thought was faintly dry, half unamused and half curious about the coincidence.) 

 

“What were  _ you  _ doin’ asleep at this time, anyway? It’s the beginning of the summer and it’s barely ten!” Futaba continued, shifting out from under his legs to peer at him. “Wait, don’t tell me you’re one of  _ those  _ people who go to sleep at nine to insist on getting a full-night’s rest.” 

 

He scoffed, pulling his legs toward him. “As if it’s any of  _ your  _ business what time I go to sleep,” he commented, giving her a scowl as she snickered at him. If anything, his sleep schedule was rather poor, ranging from ten hours to four depending on the level of fervor or anxiety keeping him up. (As of late, he barely got two or three hours, desperate to finish the painting before Madarame was even more upset with him.) He opened his mouth to combat the witty retort he could see forming on Futaba’s face, only to freeze when he realized that Akira would have absolutely no idea what he was doing in  _ Crossroads- _ or how to get home. “Oh no.” 

 

Futaba threw her hands up, eyes rolling exasperation. “Again with that- geez, am I  _ that  _ annoying?” Yusuke nearly had a sarcastic response to that, but it was swallowed up by his hands scrabbling around in a frantic search.  _ Where is it-? “Dude,  _ are you even listening to me? What are you looking for?” 

 

“His  _ phone,”  _ Yusuke forced out, not finding it in the pockets of Akira’s pajama pants nor on the coffee table; the couch hadn’t swallowed it either, and panic started to gnaw at his stomach. “I need to-” 

 

“Oh, cat nap done already? And here I was, prepared to haul your ass to sleep properly in your bed,” came Sojiro’s voice, a smirk of maroon over his teasing as he walked through the doorway into the small kitchen. 

 

Yusuke was utterly still as he watched Sojiro hum to himself, searching for something behind the bar-top counter before catching sight of Futaba’s dawning grin.  _ “Don’t you dare,”  _ he hissed, but Futaba ignored him in favor of snaking her arms around his own and tugging them both up from the couch. 

 

“Sojiro, guess who’s here!” Futaba called  _ loudly,  _ obnoxious green clashing with the whistle of the rain just starting to tap at the roof and the windows around them. “I know you’ve been  _ dying  _ to meet him!” 

 

_ “Futaba!”  _

 

“Shush, Inari,” she chastised, bodily shoving her hands into his back and propelling him toward the counter, where Sojiro was fixing them both with an expression of slow amusement, eyebrow raised. 

 

“No,  _ wait, _ I don’t think you understand, I need to-” 

 

“Well, I take it you’re Akira’s infamous Yusuke?” Sojiro hummed, one hand on his hip as he regarded Yusuke from the other side of the counter; Futaba clambered into one of the chairs, giddy and excited.

 

_ Akira’s Yusuke.  _ The sense of possession made his face warm, chest a buzzing mess as his fingers found themselves tangled in each other. “Yes, sir,” he admitted quietly, looking for a second of anger, of something dangerous in his face. 

 

He was caught off guard instead when Sojiro laughed, bold and sincere enough in rich, rich coppers that no paints could ever do justice. “There’s no need for the  _ sir,” _ Sojiro eventually said, and Yusuke felt the tension ease just slightly from his shoulders. “You can just call me Sojiro if you’d like, or Boss, but you don’t have to be so formal, kid.” 

 

Heat burned in Yusuke’s ears and his eyes skittered away from him. “Apologies,” he mumbled, and Sojiro sighed. 

 

“You know, I think you were also a ball of nerves the first time I realized you were here,” he said, voice dipping into gentle exasperation as he rubbed at the back of his head. “Talked a mile a minute, and I felt bad for how bewildered you ended up at the Lupins. I guess I should apologize for not saying anything right off the bat, huh?” 

 

Yusuke looked back up at him, perplexed; his hands stopped fidgeting. “You don’t need to apologize to me,” he said, his surprise dusting the air in thin ribbons of quiet, faded carmine. “If anything, I believe I was the one who put everyone into a troublesome situation, though… Akira at most.” His face fell, eyes dropping back down to the tabletop. 

 

Another beat of a laugh, just as bold. “Hey, if anyone’s to blame it’s the Sakura blood, so chin up,” Sojiro interjected, meeting Yusuke’s eye with a knowing look. “I don’t think Akira would let me off the hook if I made you uncomfortable, though it’s not like I planned on doing that. Unlike  _ some  _ people, I know where not to stick my nose,” he added, giving his daughter a critical look that had her gasping dramatically.

 

“Rude, Sojiro,  _ rude!  _ I’ll have you know I don’t stick my nose in  _ anything!  _ I  _ carefully extract  _ the information that I need.” 

 

“Uh huh, and tell me how that’s not what I just said?” 

 

_ “Sojiro!”  _

 

The banter soaked Yusuke in something calm, that odd, visceral feeling of acceptance and peace from a few weeks creeping back into his bones to slow his hammering heart rate- he smiled, warm and sincere. 

 

“There we go,” Sojiro interrupted, startling Yusuke out of his head. 

 

“What?” he asked, hand pressed to his chest as he was met with two pairs of prying eyes. “Did I accidentally speak my thoughts aloud again?” 

 

Sojiro shook his head with a laugh, leaning onto the countertop. “No, not this time,” he said, humour in his tone before looking up at him. “Feeling a bit better now? We don’t bite, you know.” 

 

“Well, Mona might, but that doesn’t count,” Futaba added, earning a  _ look  _ from Sojiro that had her pouting. 

 

Yusuke tapped at his lip thoughtfully. “It’s not as if she’s wrong- he  _ is _ rather testy from time to time, but it’s no less endearing,” he said, earning a snort from Sojiro and an ugly wheeze from Futaba.  _ (I had no idea such a rich green and maroon would go so well together- I guess Rothko wasn’t too far off, then.)  _

 

“If you’re gonna spread lies about me, at least wait until I’m in the room,” Morgana complained from where he rounded the corner, jumping from the floor up onto the counter. “What’d I miss, anyway? Something important?” 

 

“Off the counter,” Sojiro gently nudged, shooing him, and Morgana groaned before hopping down into the chair opposite from Futaba. 

 

“Hello, Morgana,” Yusuke greeted warmly, reaching out to stroke behind his ears, “it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” 

 

Morgana cracked open an eye to stare at him, shock not diminishing the purrs Yusuke could feel under his fingers. “What are  _ you  _ doing here at such a weird time?” he asked dryly, and Yusuke raised an eyebrow. 

 

“He sounds so angry, and yet he’s purring,” he commented, making the Sakuras laugh again as Morgana glowered at him. 

 

“Don’t make me scratch you, fox boy,” he threatened, but his body remained relaxed. “Akira’s phone was ringing, by the way, which woke me up- I guess that’s him?” 

 

Yusuke’s fingers froze in Morgana’s fur, and in the silence he could indeed hear a faint blue ringtone from Akira’s room just down the hall.  _ That’s right, I still need to-  _

 

“I’ll get it!” Futaba announced cheerily, slipping out of her chair at light speed before booking it out of the room despite Yusuke’s cry of  _ “Wait!”  _ chasing her. Yusuke groaned lightly. 

 

“Everything alright? You can sit down, you know,” Sojiro said, making Yusuke look up. 

 

“Um, yes, it’s just that…. well, I fear that Akira may be a tad upset with me at the present moment,” he answered truthfully, carefully climbing up into the chair between Morgana’s and Futaba’s. 

 

Sojiro raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on it. “You hungry? I can get you something to eat if you’d like,” he asked, switching the topic. 

 

Yusuke shook his head, crossing his arms and leaning onto the surface of the counter. “No, thank you; I wouldn’t want to impose,” he declined, and Sojiro huffed a laugh. 

 

“Kid, if memory serves, you’ve been  _ imposing  _ for nearly two months now, and none of us have an issue with that,” he said sternly, staring down Yusuke. “So, what am I making for you?” 

 

_ This family and their stubborn affection.  _

 

“I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee, if you’re insistent,” Yusuke eventually replied, quiet and cautious. 

 

A grin ticked up the corner of Sojiro’s mouth. “And here I thought you’d be tired of coffee by now,” he remarked, and Yusuke’s head popped up. 

 

“Absolutely not,” he said instantly, as if the thought was outlandish, “especially not of such high caliber. I’d come to Leblanc every day if I could- it provides such a wealth of inspiration with its atmosphere alone, and that’s discounting its wonderful food.” Sojiro’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at Yusuke’s verity, and Yusuke blinked. “Did I say something wrong?” 

 

Sojiro chuckled. “No, you didn’t,” he said, setting a container down onto the lower counter before rifling through the cabinets. “Your brand of mind is rather refreshing, I have to say,” he added, and Yusuke tilted his head. (Morgana snorted from his seat, but Yusuke paid him no mind.) 

 

“What do you mean?” 

 

Sojiro waved him off with the mug in his hand, smile pulling at the corners of his eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” he insisted, before clearing his throat and getting to work. “In return for a cup of my renowned coffee, you’ll have to pay me back, however.” 

 

Yusuke faltered for a moment. “Of course, sir, it’s just that I’m not sure I have enough-” 

 

Sojiro held up his hand, stopping Yusuke from spiralling. “Slow your roll, kid. First off, I asked you drop the sir, and second, I don’t expect you to pay me like  _ that,” _ he interrupted, amusement warm on his face. 

 

Yusuke mentally berated himself for slipping up again, but he shifted in his seat to refocus. “I’m not sure I quite follow what you’re requesting.” 

 

“It’s simple, really- pay me with your story,” Sojiro replied, not meeting his eye as they were trained on the sipon in front of him, the drip of the coffee a sharper purple than the rain outside. “Every swap is different, and I’m curious to know the person who my nephew’s been living as.” 

 

The words were genuine, sincere, and so easily said that Yusuke was flabbergasted. He only stared at Sojiro, the sound of the slowly-coming storm starting to fill the room with the white-gray noise of rolling thunder. 

 

Yusuke didn’t get a chance to answer him, however, as Futaba careened into the room with a violently ringing phone held in her hand. She flashed it at them victoriously, before tapping at it and holding it to her ear as she made her way toward them. She stopped when a burst of sound exploded into the earpiece, not quite loud enough for Yusuke to pick out individual words. 

 

She blinked, and then handed it out to Yusuke after tapping another button. “Here, it’s for you,” she said cheekily, and Yusuke rolled his eyes before reaching for it. (He felt a faint smile curve his lips when he saw the string of fox emojis making up his contact name, childish but sweet.) 

 

“Hello?” he started, wincing when he got an immediate reply, a maelstrom of words now loud enough to be heard clearly even from where he yanked it away from his ear: 

 

_ “Yusuke, what the HELL am I doing in the middle of a bar? What were you even doing- wait, you’re not in trouble, are you? ‘Cause I can’t help you if you’re stranded in the middle of nowhere and  _ **_holy shit that dude is really glaring at me-”_ **

 

_ “Breathe,  _ Akira, slow down,” Yusuke cut off, resisting the urge to release the laughter bubbling up in bubblegum-peach behind his breastbone.  _ “Crossroads  _ is a safe place, I assure you.” 

 

_ “But why, of ALL places, did you pick a bar? I mean, come on, I don’t even know what part of Tokyo I’m in-”  _

 

“Shinjuku.” 

 

A splutter, bright blue and confused.  **_“Shinjuku?_ ** _ The red-light district? Are you  _ **_serious?”_ **

 

“Despite its reputation, it’s actually not that bad,” Yusuke refuted, crossing his legs and leaning an elbow onto the counter. “It’s also a rather good place for people watching; people here are certainly…. bold, if I must choose a word.” 

 

A bit of stunned silence permeated the room before Akira replied with a single, dry  _ “Yusuke.”  _

 

Yusuke raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” 

 

_ “You’re insane, but it’s endearing.”  _

 

Yusuke pressed his lips flat in thought, humming. “I think I prefer the word  _ eccentric  _ over  _ insane,  _ but I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.” 

 

_ “Oh my god.”  _

 

Sojiro bit back a smile as Futaba pressed a hand to her lips, vibrating in her spot, until maniacal laughter slipped from between the cracks of her fingers as she leaned back, body bridging over two of the chairs. 

 

Yusuke felt his face warm, for in that minute of conversation he’d completely forgotten that he wasn’t alone. 

 

_ “Oh, shit- where are you right now? I was asleep on the couch, right? Don’t tell me Futaba’s being a hawk again.”  _

 

Yusuke grinned sheepishly despite knowing Akira couldn’t see it. “Actually, I was introducing myself to Sakura-san before you called,” he said slowly, and the line went dead silent. 

 

_ “...Please tell me I’m not on speaker,”  _ Akira eventually asked meekly, and Sojiro chuckled. 

 

“Sorry, kid, but you are  _ indeed _ on speaker,” Sojiro cut in, eliciting a strangled noise from Akira that sounded horrendous in Yusuke’s voice. “Futaba’s to blame for that one, though.” 

 

_ “Dammit, Futaba! That wasn’t supposed to be broadcasted to everyone in the room!”  _ Akira hissed, and Futaba sat back up with a wheeze. 

 

“What, worried someone would overhear…. what, exactly?” she teased, pushing a button of some sort for Akira as he groaned into the receiver. 

 

_ “I swear to god, Futaba-”  _

 

“Choose your next words carefully, Akira,” Sojiro warned, and Yusuke heard Akira falter. Futaba gave the line a wicked grin, one that Yusuke could tell Akira felt. 

 

_ “Okay, fine, you win this round, gremlin,”  _ Akira bit out, but it was equal parts fond as it was irritated. 

 

“Ha  _ ha!  _ The mighty Sakura Futaba remains victorious!”

 

_ “I hate you.”  _

 

“Funny, the more you say that, the less I seem to think it’s true,” she mused, tapping her cheek theatrically, and Yusuke couldn’t help but laugh. 

 

(He felt light as air, a hot-air balloon, and as he laughed the rain started to pour.) 

 

“I’m sorry, please don’t mind me,” Yusuke forced out around the ache of the smile on his lips, fingers pressed over his mouth in an attempt to quell the noise. Futaba just gave him a wide grin as Sojiro’s face softened, still focused on the coffee in front of him. 

 

Futaba’s expression only deepened when she looked back down toward the phone, the line conspicuously silent. “Yo, earth to brother, where’d you go?” she drawled, and a shift from the other line crackled through. 

 

_ “Uh, still here. Sorry, that was just a bit… weird- like hearing a recording of myself?”  _

 

“Mm-hm, yes,  _ that _ was the issue,” Futaba replied, voice heavy with innuendo that Yusuke didn’t quite get, but if his groan was any indication, Akira  _ did.  _

 

_ “Stop that,”  _ he complained, halfway to a whine that had Morgana making a disgusted noise despite clambering over to nudge at Yusuke’s leg, paws suddenly pressed into his thigh making him jump before uncrossing them to allow Morgana to curl up in his lap. 

 

“I seem to be missing something,” Yusuke said slowly, and Morgana snorted. 

 

“No, you’re really not,” he commented, resting his head on his paws; Yusuke stroked a hand down his back, still confused. 

 

“Do I get to join the club?” Sojiro asked, a smirk on his face as Akira sighed deeply. “What, that a no?” 

 

_ “It’s not important, really,”  _ Akira insisted, and Yusuke caught Futaba swallowing down a quiet laugh. 

 

“If you’re pushing it, it  _ must _ something good,” Sojiro started, sliding the mug over toward a delightedly surprised Yusuke-  _ Thank you,  _ he mouthed, fingers curling around the warm ceramic- before crossing his arms. “But, if I know you, you’ll just end up telling me anyway. So, I’ll just let  _ Futaba _ do the teasing.” 

 

_ “God, you guys are the WORST- are you hearing this, Yusuke? Terrible people, I tell you.”  _

 

“Hm, I don’t know; they certainly treat  _ me _ rather kindly,” Yusuke said, a small smile curving at his lips as he carefully took a sip. 

 

_ “Wha- hey!”  _ Yusuke couldn’t help but laugh quietly into his coffee  _ (delicious as always, Sakura-san). “That’s favoritism, you guys!”  _

 

“Yeah, but he’s been more pleasant to deal with in two months than you have in  _ eighteen years,”  _ Futaba retorted, and Yusuke nearly choked on his coffee. 

 

_ “....Technically only eleven,”  _ Akira argued petulantly, and Yusuke was astounded by how  _ sticky  _ his own voice could be. 

 

“I don’t hear a refutation in there, so it seems to me like you agree that Yusuke’s better than you are,” Futaba pressed, smirking as she tugged up a leg to pull it under her thigh. 

 

_ “Oh, that’s just playing dirty, you little brat,”  _ Akira complained, light-heartedly exasperated, and Futaba barked a laugh.  _ “That trip to Akihabara? Cancelled. Rescinded. I’m returning all of my orders I have for you.”  _

 

_ “No,  _ you can’t! I was just kidding  _ pleasedon’tohmygodi’msorry-”  _

 

_ “Who’s in the hot seat now, huh? ‘Cause it ain’t me.”  _ The well-practiced dialect spun Yusuke’s well- _ refined _ voice into something warm, melting the ice of his regular blues into something closer to ultramarine, the touch of Akira’s red turning Yusuke slightly purple. 

 

“Woah, that sounded weird in Inari’s voice,”  Futaba commented, act dropped to squint between the phone and Yusuke. 

 

“I have to agree,” Yusuke said, head tilted curiously, before a faint laugh emerged from the phone. 

 

_ “Sorry, wasn’t thinking. Though- god, can you imagine if I went full Ryuuji instead? Now THAT would be weird.”  _

 

Yusuke scrunched his nose in visible disgust, earning laughter from both Morgana as well as Sojiro. “That’s not something I even want to entertain imagining,” he said, “the color balance  _ alone  _ would be appalling.” 

 

Futaba knit her eyebrows at him before a hum of contemplation cut off whatever question she meant to say.  _ “Huh, you’re right- if I stay in Itomori mode, it does look kinda… purple? I didn’t even notice.”  _

 

“Are you guys high or something?” Futaba cut in, before gasping.  _ “Inari,  _ did you finally break Akira after all that switching?” 

 

Yusuke gave her an insulted look. “Of course not; he’s perfectly fine.” 

 

Futaba cocked an eyebrow at him. 

 

_ “Wait wait wait, should I try more southern? Maybe break out some more contractions?”  _

 

Yusuke sighed.  _ “No-”  _

 

_ “Y’all? Y’aint?”  _

 

“Akira.” 

 

_ “Wouldn’t’ve?”  _

 

_ “Akira.”  _

 

(The more he tried, the purpler it got-  _ interesting.)  _

 

“Jeez, now  _ I’m  _ uncomfortable,” Futaba interrupted, and Akira laughed over the line. 

 

_ “Y'all'd've'f'I'd've?” _

 

_ “Stop,”  _ both Futaba and Yusuke blurted, though Yusuke’s was with a hand over his face while Futaba had a spark of a smile in her eyes. 

 

“Yusuke, I’m going to reassure you right now that last one has  _ never  _ been used in this house,” Sojiro said, earning a faint laugh from Yusuke. “‘Y’aint’, however…. I can’t guarantee that one.” 

 

“God, that sounds horrible coming out of anyone’s mouth that isn’t Ryuuji,” Futaba complained, giving him a disgusted look. 

 

“Seconded,” Morgana added, and Yusuke felt a smile break over his face. 

 

Sojiro held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I get it, don’t let the old man use slang,” he ceded, and Yusuke heard Futaba mutter a faint  _ thank god  _ under her breath. “Anyway, kid-” this was directed toward the phone- “you have a plan to escape Shinjuku in one piece?” 

 

There was a faint pause, thinking, before a quiet  _ “Shit. I didn’t think about that.”  _

 

Yusuke’s stomach sank, blowing a breath out of his nose. “If memory serves, I….. think I may be out of money for train fare,” he admitted, wincing, expecting scolding from the others. 

 

_ “Hey, don’t sweat it,”  _ Akira said, and Yusuke blinked.  _ “I mean, I kinda had a feeling from the literal explosion of art stuff that you were probably lost in your head, but I’ll manage.”  _ Akira hummed for a moment, thinking.  _ “Hm, think I could walk back?”  _

 

Fear spiked in Yusuke’s chest at the idea of Akira wandering lost and alone in the backstreets of Tokyo, alarm bells ringing instantly.  _ “Absolutely  _ not,” he said sharply, cringing when his words echoed back to him in over-sharp neon red. “I- what I meant is that it’s far too dangerous as well as too  _ far  _ to walk alone.” 

 

Patchwork and messy-  _ what  _ **_would_ ** _ happen if something happened to him while I was here? Would I be stuck here? Would I return, broken and battered, with Akira helplessly watching from afar?  _

 

_ “Yusuke, did you hear me?”  _ Yusuke only registered the words when a foot dug itself sharply into his shin, making him jump; he glared up at Futaba, who nodded toward the phone.  _ “What’s going on in that head of yours?”  _

 

“Nothing of import,” he reassured, distracting his fingers by tugging lightly at Morgana’s fur, who only looked up at him with squinted eyes. 

 

_ “So, what’s the plan? I’m not really sure where I’m headed, so-”  _ His train of thought was cut off but a burst of incoherent noise, muffled, as if Akira had something pressed over the microphone. The three of them knit their eyebrows, confused, but as Yusuke strained to hear, he caught the curling and rich edges of  _ Moulin Rouge _ crimson and gold mixed in with his own light blues. 

 

“Ah, Lala-san must have come to check up on him,” he said, mostly to himself than anything, but the expression only deepened the confusion on the other’s faces. 

 

“Lala...san? Who the heck is that?” Futaba asked, and Yusuke looked up at her, a bright  _ oh  _ forming on his lips. 

 

“She’s the owner of  _ Crossroads,” _ he explained, fondness creeping into his voice, “but- as she puts it- she likes taking in the mismatched ‘strays’ here and there; to say  _ Crossroads _ is merely a bar is a woeful understatement.” 

 

“Ah, so you’ve found yourself a little hole-in-the-wall, huh?” Sojiro said, head tipped in curiosity with the faintest color of realization smudged over his features. 

 

Yusuke nodded. “While she’ll never outright admit it, she lets me assist from time to time- organizing, dishes, things of that nature- and will… what’s the phrase she always uses?  _ Gratuitously tip  _ me for my help,” he said, the burgeoning laughter warm in his chest curving his lips into a smile tinted in wine-red amusement.  

 

“Sounds like a good woman,” Sojiro commented, and Yusuke found himself huffing a laugh. 

 

“She’s an interesting one as well; her words don’t always match what she means.” He paused when he heard the line get clearer, catching the tail end of  _ Make sure you aren’t out to late, dear, you know how Shinjuku can get with pretty-boys like you,  _ drifting from the phone. 

 

In time to the meek  _ “Okay,”  _ half-strangled by a cough, both Sakuras gave Yusuke matching teasing expressions.  _ Pretty-boys?  _ Futaba mouthed, and Yusuke found himself blushing. 

 

_ “Uh, okay, so I’ve been politely kicked out, but I think it’s for my own good,”  _ Akira finally said, and a faint shuffling rattled over the line.  _ “How long have you even been in here, Yusuke? She made it sound like it’s been hours!”  _

 

“Probably has been,” Morgana muttered, and Futaba snorted quietly. 

 

Yusuke cleared his throat and shifted slightly, trying to conceal his awkwardness. “I’ve…. If I’m remembering correctly, I believe I came in at around 1:15 or so? It was just after my shift with Okumura-san, and Sensei didn’t ask for me to return, so I figured I’d have a bit of a moment to myself.” Futaba gaped at him in time to Sojiro shaking his head with a laugh, making Yusuke rub at his neck sheepishly. “I guess I lost track of time far more than I intended.” 

  
_ “So  _ **_that’s_ ** _ why my ass hurts,”  _ Akira mumbled, barely perceptible, but just loud enough for Futaba to bark a  _ HA!  _ as Yusuke elegantly choked on saliva. The shuffling stopped for a second, interrupted by a quiet  _ “Shit, did I just say that aloud?”  _

 

“Yeah, you did,” Futaba drawled, laughing when Akira made a noise that was a cross between embarrassment and annoyance. 

 

_ “My point still stands!”  _ he argued, only spurring her laughter on; Yusuke quietly sipped his coffee instead, hoping the cup would shield his face.  _ (His skin is tanner than mine and doesn’t blush as easily, but I still feel like I’m on fire-) “ _ **_Anyway,_ ** _ what’s the battle plan, Yusuke?”  _

 

Yusuke, hearing the conversation shift back to him, swiftly set his mug up onto the counter with a hum before his hands returned to the cat on his lap. He chewed on his lip for a moment, pondering, before he let his breath out in a solid huff. 

 

_ Okumura-san told me she’ll be in a meeting with the executives of her father’s company today, Niijima-san is seeing her sister off at the airport before her flight to Sendai and I wouldn’t want to take up their time with each other….  _

_ That just leaves-  _

 

“I have an….  _ associate  _ of mine that should be able to come get you, but you’ll have to explain the situation so he doesn’t bring his street bike instead,” Yusuke settled on, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I do believe he’s free tonight anyway, if I’m correct.” 

 

_ “Uh…. what?”  _

 

“‘Associate’? The hell does that mean, Inari?” Futaba cut in, making Yusuke tilt his head.

 

“Should I use the word ‘acquaintance’ instead?”

 

Futaba rolled her eyes. “Never mind.” 

 

Yusuke gave her an odd look before returning his attention to Akira. “Anyway, you’ll find his number in my contacts- actually, now that I think about it, I’m surprised you haven’t run into him yet,” he said, tapping at his chin thoughtfully. “Normally he seeks me out and I’m not really able to shake him off, but I think you’d remember him if you did.” 

 

_ “What name am I looking for?”  _ Akira asked, but his voice was flatter, pitched low and careful as if trying to sound casual.  _ Huh?  _

 

“Akechi,” Yusuke replied, still trying to parse Akira’s odd reaction when the glimpse of Futaba’s open mouth caught his eye. “What?” 

 

“Don’t tell me you mean  _ that  _ Akechi, right? That detective or whatever?” 

 

“Oh, you mean that one kid that’s been popping up on the news recently? He usually does interviews with the one studio that broadcasts right before my show,” Sojiro added, looking to Yusuke. “Kinda tall, long hair, always wearing gloves?” 

 

_ “He just did an interview earlier today, wasn’t he? He was wearing a Kosei uniform,”  _ Akira said, voice thin.

 

Yusuke froze, before blowing out a sigh. “Akechi Goro, the detective prince of Kosei,” he relayed bitterly, before shaking his head. “He always does his best to  _ appease  _ whomever he needs to; I guess our principal asked him to wear his uniform today for more attention, or was it the producer…?” 

 

“Are you telling me you personally know  _ Akechi Goro?”  _ Futaba reiterated, her insistence making him knit his eyebrows. 

 

“Yes?” he said slowly. “What of it?” 

 

Whatever response Futaba meant to say that was plastered visibly on her face was cut off by Akira.  _ “Should I call or text? I don’t know which he responds to faster.”  _

 

“Oh, you’ll need to call; he never answers texts in a timely manner,” Yusuke realized, “so you’ll have to hang up on us. I didn’t think about that- I’m sorry.” 

 

_ “Hey, as long as I’m able to get you home safely, right? So there’s need to apologize,”  _ Akira said, and the odd tone from earlier had softened.  _ “What  _ **_were_ ** _ you working on, anyway? There’s ink all over my hands and stuff everywhere….”  _

 

Futaba gave Yusuke a sharp look, and Yusuke blurted a panicked  _ “Nothing!”  _ that made her throw her hands up in defeat. “Smooth,” Morgana muttered, matching the amused eyebrow Sojiro raised; Yusuke dived back into his coffee. 

 

_ “Okay, okay, I got it,”  _ Akira surrendered, a faint clip of laughter in his voice as he heard the sound of a zipper bright pink over the line.  _ “I guess I should hang up now; it’s getting a bit late, and I don’t want to get you in trouble.”  _

 

Yusuke winced. “I apologize for putting you in a tight spot,” he said, and Akira sighed. 

 

_ “You do realize I’m not upset with you, right? So don’t worry,”  _ Akira said, a faint shuffling interrupting him before his voice came through again.  _ “I’ll let you know once I’m back, okay?”  _

 

Stupidly, Yusuke nodded, before he paused and blurted a “Thank you,” earning a short laugh from Akira. 

 

_ “Hey, to my loitering family members- don’t break him while I’m gone, okay?”  _ Akira added, and Yusuke heard the sound of the door chime signalling that he’d moved outside in a note of smoky gold.  _ “That includes you, Mona.”  _

 

“Hey,  _ rude!  _ I’ll have you know he’s a rather warm bed at the moment,” Morgana complained, and Akira snorted. 

 

“I promise I’ll keep him safe from Futaba,” Sojiro said, and Yusuke bit back a laugh as Futaba gasped in insult. 

 

_ “You hear that, Futaba?”  _ Akira threatened, weighter than Yusuke could decipher, and she rolled her eyes dramatically enough that her entire head moved. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” she sniped, pouting, “no breaking your Inari without you.” 

 

_ “What- that’s not what I-”  _

 

“Go call that dude and get back safely already- you know Ann would murder you if you weren’t here for tomorrow!” 

 

_ “Futaba-”  _

 

“She’s right,” Yusuke intercepted, trying to keep his voice level from the aftershock of  _ breaking your Inari.  _ “We shouldn’t keep you; I’m not sure if Sensei’s expecting me, but it’s better to avoid being later than you already are.” 

 

_ “Good point- oh, dammit, stupid puddle. Was it raining or something? Never mind, I’m rambling. I’ll text you once I’m back, okay?”  _

 

It was an endearing mess of consciousness, but the curl of blues shaped just slightly differently than Yusuke was used to made a small smile tick up at the corner of his lips. “Let me know if you have any issues with Akechi-san- he’s a bit much to handle at times, but I’m used to it.” 

 

_ “Noted.”  _ The flat tone was back again, sharp and cerulean in Yusuke’s own voice.  _ “I’ll head out now. Talk to you guys in a bit, then.”  _ The line clicked off, signalling the end of conversation. 

 

The lull of silence made Yusuke knit his eyebrows, peering at the others before speaking up. “Did I say something wrong? He sounded a bit… off,” he said, genuinely confused as he reached for the phone now sitting innocuous on the countertop. 

 

Futaba fixed him with a look, before her face softened, shifting forward to stare at him. “How exactly do you…  _ know  _ Akechi?” she started slowly, insistence in her voice perplexing Yusuke. 

 

“A series of unfortunate events, if I’m to be honest,” he said, fingers drumming on the counter. “I’m not sure if I’d categorize our relationships as  _ friends,  _ per se, but I’ll begrudgingly admit he’s been a confidant of mine for a few years.”  _ I seem to be missing something.  _

 

“What angle are you getting at, Futaba?” Sojiro pressed, leaning onto the counter; she waved him off. 

 

“Lemme just- okay,  _ Inari-”  _ she steepled her fingers with a sigh before turning them outwords, pointing at him- “you’re not…. oh, I dunno,  _ dating him,  _ right?” 

 

For once, there was no teasing in her voice, no underpinning of her impish neons revealing any hidden punchline with a question he finally thought he would’ve understood as a joke. 

 

Yusuke scrunched his nose.  _ “Absolutely _ not,” he said. “Where on earth would you get such a preposterous idea?” 

 

(A lightbulb went off over Sojiro’s head, a silent  _ oh  _ making him hold back a laugh.) 

 

Futaba bit back a snort, making Yusuke wary. “Oh no.” 

 

He side-eyed her. “What?” 

 

She waved him off, and Morgana sighed deeply, cracking open an eye to stare at her; she ignored him. “Let’s just say there may have been a small misunderstanding.” 

 

“Futaba,” Sojiro warned, but she only spread her hands innocently. 

 

“It’s nothing! Don’t worry about it.” 

 

“A misunderstanding about  _ what?”  _ Yusuke pressed, humming darkly when she flashed a grin his way. 

 

“I  _ said  _ don’t worry about it!” 

 

“The more you insist, the more troublesome it becomes,” Yusuke said slowly, earning a snicker. 

 

“That’s just the way the cookie crumbles.  _ Anyway!-”  _ she slapped her palm to the counter, startling both Yusuke as well as Morgana- “how’re those paintings coming along? I figured those were what you were working on before you two swapped.”  __

 

Yusuke sighed deeply, flattening his lips at her change of subject, but let it drop. “I believe I finally have a good place to start, now that I’ve had time to sit down and work sections of it out, but I came to realize that I actually have another inquiry of concern regarding the project.” 

 

Futaba tilted her head, which Sojiro similarly mirrored as he leaned forward onto the counter. “What’s up?” she said, concern flashing over her face. He could sense the question he assumed she had  _ (Of course I’m still going to paint for him, there’s no doubt about that-)  _ and waved her off lightly. 

 

“I have no way to access the tools and materials I’ve collected over the years to actually  _ paint  _ it all, and I’m not quite sure…. how to address that. I assume that you won’t have the specific brands I use, but I don’t want such a minor thing to hinder me.” 

 

Futaba huffed, an amused grin on her lips. “Okay, you hoity-toity art boy, I get it- no fancy, paid-out-the-ass art supplies here, but I’m  _ sure  _ we can do something about that,” she said, raising an eyebrow at Sojiro. 

 

Sojiro blinked before shaking his head with a laugh. “You’re going to need to tell me what you’re  _ doing  _ first before we can help you, you know,” he pressed, and Yusuke’s heart lurched ever-so-lightly. 

 

He floundered for an answer, caught off-guard by being put on the spot, and was cut off by a snickering Futaba.  _ “Aw, _ you made him blush,” she cooed, and he scowled at her, crossing his arms over his chest. 

 

Sojiro raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I didn’t mean any offense; if ya don’t want to tell me, then don’t!” 

 

“Oh, no, that’s not the issue, Sakura-san!” Yusuke interjected, and Sojiro smiled. “I don’t mind telling you so long as you don’t mind listening to me.” 

 

Futaba gasped, bouncing excitedly in her seat to make Morgana grumble, and Yusuke jumped.  _ “Finally!  _ I’ve been  _ waiting  _ for you to tell me about your artist-brain shenanigans!” 

 

“Really?” he asked, flummoxed, and that impish grin crept across her face again. 

 

She leaned forward onto her knees, chin resting on the cradle of her interlocked fingers as she craned toward Yusuke.  _ “Spill it!”  _

 

After a beat of a breath and an exasperated sigh from Sojiro, Yusuke slowly began to talk, gently weaving words into colors and shapes as he gestured and explained, warm from the inside out with pure joy at being able to  _ talk.  _ Halfway through, Sojiro held up a finger and slipped out of the kitchen, much to Yusuke’s confusion, before reemerging with a notebook in his hand that he slid to Yusuke across the counter. Delightedly, Yusuke took it and carefully lifted the cover, smoothing his fingers over the very pages themselves. 

 

(Photos of them really didn’t do them any justice.) 

 

Now unbound from the grainy image of cell-phone snapshots, Yusuke was able to thumb over lovingly-attached photos decorated with the smallest of ink-pen doodles  _ (simple but adorable), _ as well as neatly-penned dates and descriptions of days gone past. It was old, with the first spread nearly five years old (it bore the same picture of the three Sakuras from their first Tanabata, obviously done many years later with hesitant and exploring fingers as Akira worked out just how he enjoyed the process), but breathed with a heartbeat Yusuke could undeniably name as  _ Akira,  _ and that giddy feeling that he felt when he smeared grays and blacks onto his most recent painting emerged in full. 

 

_ I can’t wait to work on this, should he be so accepting-  _

_ I don’t want to ruin it.  _

 

“I think I’ve got an idea of how I can help you out, kid; just give me some time and a list.” 

 

“A list? Of what, pray tell?” 

 

Sojiro smiled. “Well, what do you need to put that head of yours on paper?” 

 

Yusuke paused, parsed, and then his eyes widened in shock as he registered what he was asking. 

Sojiro’s smile turned into a grin just as jubilant and impish as Futaba’s, and Yusuke almost wanted to cry. 

 

_ I’ve found myself a home, I think-  _

_ I don’t want to go.  _

 

_ \----  _

 

_ “How the hell do you even pronounce half of these things, dude?”  _

 

_ “It’s German, Futaba, so you pronounce each syllable.”  _

 

_ “You…. what?”  _

 

_ “Just look for the name; you don’t have to say it.”  _

 

_ “Dude.”  _

 

_ “Yes?”  _

 

_ “You’re so extra, and I love you.”  _

 

_ “Um, I’m not…. I don’t know how to respond to that.”  _

 

_ “You don’t! Just accept the love!”  _

 

_ “I feel bad enough that Sakura-san is going out of his way to locate some of these things; are you absolutely certain that I can’t help you pay for anything? I know firsthand how pricey some of the materials can be.”  _

 

_ “Hell no! It’s a thank you gift- you’re broke as it is, so shut up and let us help! It’s for Akira anyway, which is MORE than enough.”  _

 

_ “....If you insist.”  _

 

_ “We ‘insist’, dammit.”  _

 

_ “Still. I truly hope Akira won’t be upset about me adding to his work.”  _

 

_ “He won’t; just you wait.”  _

 

_ “If you’re certain.”  _

 

_ Futaba flashed a grin, and Yusuke felt at ease.  _

 

_ \------ _

 

“Fuckin’-  _ Jesus, _ what’s with all these people and biking in puddles past pedestrians?” Akira grumbled, scowling rather icily at the  _ third  _ person who drenched him in puddle water before shaking out his hair. He was damp, sore, and tired, and honestly wanted nothing more than to just wake up in his own body and his own bed, but here he was, ass-deep in Shinjuku and waiting for a certain  _ acquaintance  _ to show up and take him home. 

 

Akechi Goro, the Detective Prince of Kosei, whom Yusuke apparently knew quite well.

_ Right.  _

 

He blew out a breath to let the tension ease from his chest, shaking his head.  _ I’m being stupid; the most I know about him is that he’s a lofty, well-spoken ‘detective’ and shows up frequently on TV. If anything, he seems kinda…. fake, I guess? Whatever; shut up, Akira.  _

 

The phone call had been excruciatingly awkward on Akira’s end, trying to keep Yusuke’s personality intact while also attempting not to let Akechi know how  _ weird  _ Akira thought he was; he sounded as if he had a laugh constantly in his voice, shaded in some color that Akira couldn’t identify as he pried into his business. It seemed more like a push-pull kind of relationship, if Akechi’s walls were of any indication as Akira was rendered completely unable to glean any kind of emotion (other than affected) behind Akechi’s words. 

 

Akira had half a mind to text Yusuke and just ask him what the  _ fuck  _ was up with Akechi in general (he sounded obnoxiously chipper underneath the polite and carefully crafted nature of his words) before a sharp flush of rust smeared from the sounds of the city made him jump. “Kitagawa-kun, I finally found you!” the voice called, and Akira squinted as a soft rumble of an engine and a headlight made him look up. 

 

_ A motorcycle…?  _

 

“I must say, I hadn’t expected you of all people to stay in Shinjuku for quite so long,” the voice continued, and Akira had to bite his tongue to keep from bursting out into surprised laughter as the figure came into view. 

 

_ Ah, no, that would be a moped. Holy shit, people really still use those?  _

 

Now that he was closer, Akira could see that it was indeed a black moped with a faintly-damp Akechi Goro astride it, now perched in the lowlight of the alleyway. His hands were braced on the handlebars as he regarded Akira, one hand tugging down the hem of one of the gloves he wore before reaching back to tighten the ponytail emerging from under his helmet. If Akira hadn’t been staring directly at it, he wouldn’t have believed that anyone other than men older than forty-five wore that style of helmet, which- to give at least the faintest benefit of the doubt- would certainly protect someone in the event of a full-on collision. 

 

On a moped. 

_ Seriously, Yusuke? Why this one? _

 

“Kitagawa-kun? Are you alright? You’re staring off into space again,” Akechi said, and Akira blinked. 

 

_ Oh, fuck, I need to respond.  _

 

“Um, yeah, I’m okay,” Akira forced out, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “Just a bit tired.” 

 

Akechi only gave him a curious look before leaning back on the idling moped, chuckling lightly. “I’d suppose so, if you’ve been here since after your shift,” he said, and Akira was unnerved by the smile on his face that clashed with the color of his words in the dark of the alley. Akira shifted uneasily, but the motion was caught by Akechi, who tilted his head curiously. “Is something the matter?” 

 

Akira frantically shook his head. “Mm-nope,” he hummed, wincing as heard the shift in his voice to the dialect he slipped into when he was nervous.  _ Dammit, Futaba, stop rubbing off on me-  _ “I mean- no, I’m fine; I do need to get home, though.” 

 

Akechi blinked, squinting, before he blew out a breath. “If you’re certain. Better get on, then; I wouldn’t want to upset Madarame-san any further.” Akira’s stomach dropped. 

 

If Akira thought that the clambering onto the moped itself was awkward enough (the closest he’d done was a weird but hilarious squish against Ryuuji’s back as they soared down the hills of the mountain one stupid summer day), the actual ride in the  _ streets  _ was ten times worse. Aside from the fact that Yusuke was just  _ taller  _ than Akira was used to and Akechi was slightly shorter the idea of having to hold onto the frame of someone he:

a.) Didn’t really know that well and was slightly unnerved by 

b.) Only recognized from his TV and online persona 

c.) Kinda resented for his relationship with Yusuke 

 

-only made it all that much more unbearable. 

 

Akira wasn’t sure the time he accidentally fell asleep and woke up in the middle of a lesson screaming  _ Yes!  _ after Ann frantically tried to kick him awake couldn’t have been beat as one of his cringiest experiences, but fate somehow decided to surprise him. 

 

Akechi, however, didn’t seem to sense Akira’s awkwardness and chattered aimlessly on, unbothered even as he had to compete against the noise of the roaring highways. Akira wasn’t paying attention, though, more focused on the watercolor neons of the blurring city around them as they zipped through traffic. It was a dizzying sight he still wasn’t quite used to, but he found it calming, similar to the way Yusuke’s voice sounded as he sighed and laughed over the phone. 

(Akira groaned quietly to himself and resisted the urge to bury himself in this kinda-stranger’s back from his own brain.) 

 

“You’re quiet back there- you’re not getting motion sick, are you? I can slow down if that’s the case,” Akechi called over his shoulder, making Akira jump. 

 

“I’m fine,” Akira yelled back, trying to keep his grip around Akechi steady without being obvious in his discomfort. “Just tired, like I said.” 

 

Akechi laughed, head thrown back, and this time Akira caught the faintest of gold sparks over the wind in his ears. “The day you of all people get a full night’s rest will be the day it snows in August,” Akechi said, and Akira couldn’t help but snort. (Akira of all people knew just how abysmal Yusuke’s sleep schedule could be, either sleeping well into the afternoon or falling asleep in the middle of a phone conversation somewhere before nine. It was endearing as it was also worrying, but those two things seemed to go together with the name  _ Kitagawa Yusuke.)  _

 

“I take it your excursion came to fruition, then?”

 

Akira squinted. “Huh?” 

 

Akechi laughed again. “You forgot so quickly? You  _ were  _ quite focused on your work before you left, and considering you’ve stayed out so late, I can only suppose you found the inspiration you were so fervently looking for.” 

 

_ Inspiration for what? Isn’t he already working on that giant-ass painting?  _

 

“I guess you could say that,” Akira mumbled, eyes turned away as he focused on the cars racing by them. 

 

“What was that?” 

 

Akira flinched. “Nothing, nothing,” he said, and forced himself to calm down. 

 

The rest of the ride was silent, though not entirely uncomfortably so, as Akechi seemed quite content with the silence as he tunelessly hummed his way through traffic. Akira, however, felt both simultaneously exhausted as he did fully alert, a live wire to the brain as he digested everything around him, but thankfully the torture was finished as Akechi smoothly pulled into a familiar parking lot. 

 

_ Oh thank god, I think my legs are gonna fall off.  _

 

“Thank you,” Akira said as he clumsily slid off, making sure the bag on his shoulder was still securely fastened. 

 

Akechi nodded. “Any time, Kitagawa-kun. Have a good night!” He waved cheerily as be started to back up, and Akira resisted the urge to snort at the odd sight before Akechi had carefully backed out of the lot and disappeared down the street, swallowed by the lights of the city. 

 

“Compared to TV, he’s kinda weird,” Akira decided, but there was something about him that decided Akechi wasn’t  _ too  _ bad; he’d have to ask Yusuke to elaborate about Akechi later. At the moment, however, he was more consumed with the worry of Madarame as he fished out a set of keys from the depths of Yusuke’s bag  _ (Holy hell, why does he have so many pencils in here?)  _ and carefully made his way up the stairs. 

 

Creak by deafening creak, Akira crept his way up the stairs to the condo and gently unlocked it, bracing himself for any indication of a furious Madarame. However, the room was dark, and Akira felt no presence of any sort in the room as he shut the door quietly behind him. The clock on Yusuke’s phone read  _ 10:57,  _ and yet Madarame wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Knitting his eyebrows, Akira slipped off his shoes and made his way toward the table, catching sight of yet another note in thinly-scrawled handwriting: 

 

_ “I have a meeting with a seller tomorrow morning in Roppongi, so I won’t be returning home tonight as I deemed it more efficient to simply stay the night. I will see you tomorrow; we will be preparing for the exhibit,, so be up by the time I return.”  _

 

Akira breathed out a sigh of relief, tension leaving his shoulders so suddenly that he realized just how  _ sore  _ he was. Phone already in hand, he padded his way toward Yusuke’s room and flopped back onto the bed, groaning as the soft mattress caught him. 

 

Clicking on the phone, he paused as he registered the familiar photo staring back at him before smiling softly, swiping up on the image of  Orihime and Hikoboshi before pausing in utter shock as a new home screen blinked into view: 

 

_ Himself, _ doused in electric firework colors and laughing in delight, blissfully unaware of the camera turned on him. 

 

His brain was a fritz of embarrassment, flattery, and rage (though the latter was aimed at Futaba, he assumed), and he pressed the phone to his face to stem any other reactions. 

 

_ (Yusuke, what the hell are you doing to me?)  _

 

He cleared his throat and tapped into the messaging app, opening up a familiar thread reversed in front of him: 

 

_ Me [10:58 pm]  _

_ Hey, I made it home.  _

_ Me [10:58 pm]  _

_ Madarame’s out somewhere in Roppongi for the night so it’s just me here.  _

 

A response blipped in instantly, and Akira couldn’t help but smile. 

 

**_Akira [10:58 pm]_ **

**_Thank goodness._ **

**_Akira [10:58 pm]_ **

**_Was Akechi alright? He can be a bit of a handful to deal with._ **

 

Akira snorted. 

 

_ Me [10:59 pm]  _

_ He’s a bit weird but other than that he was okay.  _

_ Me [10:59 pm]  _

_ How… do you two know each other anyway?  _

_ Me [10:59 pm]  _

_ I uh  _

_ Me [10:59 pm]  _

_ May have made some assumptions.  _

 

**_Akira [10:59 pm]_ **

**_He’s simply a friend of mine, if the title really is accurate._ **

**_Akira [10:59 pm]_ **

**_An accidental meeting that someone lead into us repeatedly running into each other; that’s all._ **

**_Akira [10:59 pm]_ **

**_Futaba mentioned that I may have needed to mention that to you so as to assuage some fears of yours?_ **

**_Akira [10:59 pm]_ **

**_I take it Akechi isn’t quite popular in Itomori?_ **

 

Akira didn’t know whether to laugh or groan.  _ Futaba, you little sneak.  _

 

_ Me [10:59 pm]  _

_ Yeah something like that.  _

_ Me [10:59 pm]  _

_ He was fine, though.  _

_ Me [10:59 pm]  _

_ I do have to ask… _

_ Me [11:00 pm]  _

_ Why the moped?? _

 

**_Me [11:00 pm]_ **

**_Because it’s his only other mode of transportation that can carry two people, I suppose?_ **

 

_ Me [11:00 pm]  _

_ What the fuck  _

_ Me [11:00 pm]  _

_ You know what…. Never mind, I won’t ask.  _

 

**_Akira [11:00 pm]_ **

**_I’ve learned it’s best not to when it comes to him._ **

 

Akira laughed, the sound soft around him in gentle blues that were bright enough for even him to see. 

 

_ Me [11:00 pm]  _

_ I better get to sleep then _

_ Me [11:00 pm]  _

_ You’re gonna have a long day, I imagine.  _

 

**_Akira [11:00 pm]_ **

**_I hope it’ll be me who has to deal with it; I wouldn’t want you to try juggling it._ **

 

_ Me [11:00 pm]  _

_ I don’t mind, you know.  _

 

**_Akira [11:01 pm]_ **

**_I’m fully aware._ **

**_Akira [11:01 pm]_ **

**_I just wouldn’t want you to have to deal with a strung-out Sensei on top of the other work that’s involved with an exhibition._ **

 

Akira smiled.

 

_ Me [11:01 pm]  _

_ Thank you, Yusuke.  _

_ Me [11:01 pm]  _

_ I’m gonna try and get to sleep then so you’ll have some energy for tomorrow.  _

_ Me [11:01 pm]  _

_ Or me, if, well, you know.  _

_ Me [11:01 pm]  _

_ My family didn’t wear you out too much, did they?  _

 

**_Akira [11:01 pm]_ **

**_As I said earlier, they’re quite kind to me._ **

**_Akira [11:01 pm]_ **

**_Though I must say, I’m not sure why I’m earning such a strange look from them texting you now._ **

 

Akira coughed.

 

_ Me [11:01 pm]  _

_ Ignore them  _

 

**_Akira [11:01 pm]_ **

**_Should I be concerned as to why that was such a rapid reply?_ **

 

_ Me [11:02 pm]  _

_ Nope  _

_ Me [11:02 pm]  _

_ I just know my fam and it’s best if you don’t feed their interests  _

 

**_Akira [11:02 pm]_ **

**_Noted._ **

**_Akira [11:02 pm]_ **

**_I’ll let you get some rest now._ **

**_Akira [11:02 pm]_ **

**_Thank you for getting home for me; I apologize for such an abrupt shift._ **

 

_ Me [11:02 pm]  _

_ Don’t worry about it!  _

_ Me [11:02 pm]  _

_ I’ll talk with you tomorrow then, alright?  _

_ Me [11:02 pm]  _

_ The Takimakis are having their shrine performance and I know you’d love to see some pictures of it!  _

 

**_Akira [11:03 pm]_ **

**_You would be quite correct._ **

**_Akira [11:03 pm]_ **

**_While I’d love to see it myself, I wouldn’t want to take away such a beautiful ceremony from you._ **

 

_ Me [11:03 pm]  _

_ Hey, it’s not like you’re stealing from me! _

_ Me [11:03 pm]  _

_ I’ve seen it so many times that if Ann really wanted to she could force me up onto the stage and make me do it, but she’s not petty enough to disturb a religious ceremony like that.  _

_ Me [11:03 pm]  _

_ I wouldn’t be upset if I missed it just once knowing that you got to see it.  _

 

**_Akira [11:03 pm]_ **

**_I guess we’re both preparing for long days, aren’t we?_ **

**_Akira [11:03 pm]_ **

**_Let’s get some rest then._ **

 

_ He’s being evasive? _

 

_ Me [11:03 pm]  _

_ Sleep well, Yusuke. _

_ Me [11:03 pm]  _

_ And don’t let Futaba keep you up!  _

 

**_Akira [11:04 pm]_ **

**_I’ll do my best._ **

**_Akira [11:04 pm]_ **

**_Goodnight, then, Akira, and thank you once again._ **

 

There were no more messages after that, and Akira blinked, confused.  _ Did I say something wrong?  _ He sighed, deciding not to bother, and slid out of bed to plug the phone it. It hummed at him as it connected, bringing up the image of the stars once again, making him smile. He swiped on the alarm and then puttered around the room in search of his pajamas, stripping off his clothes from the day in an exhausted haze before flopping down at Yusuke’s desk to scrawl a note on a post-it note and stick it to the wall. 

 

Then, he flipped off the light, fell face-first into his bed, and slipped into a dark, dreamless sleep that smelled of rain just past and the wet cement of Tokyo-lit puddles. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! :D  
> Up next: shrine dances, phone calls, and kumihimo!

**Author's Note:**

> I am unashamed to say that this doc is titled as Kataware-dokidokis in my drive  
> Was this posted today because it's Yusuke's birthday?  
> Absolutely, my friends  
> I'm @AliceinHyruleBastion on Tumblr if you wanna find me elsewhere


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